The Blame (9 page)

It was their second evening in the villa and it was taking Vanessa a while to set the table as she was still finding her way round the new kitchen.

“There, it’s done,” she said to her parents. “Can I go and play now?”

“Yes, all right,” replied Laura.

She was making a salad while David opened a bottle of Syrah. He’d managed to get home early for a change, and they planned to make the most of their evening. Vanessa walked up to her mother and tugged at her sleeve.

“Mommy, when are coming to play with me?”

“I’m cooking, V. You want to eat dinner, don’t you?”

“Yes, but I also want to play with you.”

“We’ll play after dinner, okay? And tomorrow I’ll pick you up from school so that we have more time to play. In the meantime, you can sit here next to me and play a game on my phone. How’s that sound?”

“Good!” said Vanessa, climbing up onto a padded kitchen island chair. “Daddy, can you push the chair forwards? My feet don’t reach the floor.”

David laughed. “They will one day soon. Do you want some help finding a game?”

“No, let me see if I can do it myself. Most of the kids in my class already know how to use their parents’ iPhones.”

“A privileged bunch indeed. I’m sure it’s not quite the same in the local state schools. These kids are growing up oblivious of the reality around them,” David muttered to Laura.

“We’ve always made a point of letting Vanessa know the harsh realities of the world,” she protested. “I don’t think she lacks empathy for those less fortunate than her. I fact, I think she’s better informed than a lot of the self-centred adults I know.”

“Yes, I agree with you there. Travelling in the developing world is certainly an eye-opener, even for someone as young as her.”

Vanessa tapped the phone a few times and stared intently at the screen.

“Wish.. you.. were… here,” she read hesitantly.  “Look, daddy, did I read it right?” she asked, holding the phone out for David to check.

David frowned and took the phone from her. “Yes, baby, you did read it right. It looks like someone misses your mother,” he said, looking straight at his wife. “Someone called Hugo.”

Laura hastily wiped her hands on a tea towel and snatched the phone from his hand.

“Who’s that, mom? And why does he miss you?”

“Yes, Laura, why don’t you tell us?” asked David, an edge to his voice.

Laura felt the blood rush to her face. “It’s just someone from work. He’s away on a business trip to Colombia and he wishes I was there to help him with his English,” she gushed, without looking at either of them.

David stared silently at her, a steely look in his eyes. Laura tapped and swiped the screen, and pocketed the phone.

“Mom! Give me the phone! I want to play,” Vanessa complained.

“You know what, why don’t you go and give the dogs these scraps? I’ll call you when dinner is ready.”

“Good idea!” Vanessa shouted as she ran out the door with a bowl of leftovers.

“You’d think Spanish would be the logical language to speak at a meeting between Colombians and Portuguese.  Not English.”

“Yes, well, everyone speaks English at international meetings nowadays. It’s just easier,” she tried to sound casual as she trickled virgin olive oil on the green salad.

“Laura. I’m not stupid. What’s going on here?” asked David, his face as cold as his voice.

“Nothing!” she reassured him, tossing the salad a little more vigorously than was necessary. “Really. It’s just business. They’re under a lot of pressure and could do with some moral support. That’s all.”

David watched her steadily, wanting to believe her. After all, this was his wife—she simply wasn’t that sort, but his gut instinct told him otherwise.

“Anyway,” said Laura brightly, obviously trying to change the subject, “I’ve been trying to get hold of the electrician all week, but he simply won’t pick up. I think you should call him, David. Put some pressure on him, he’ll take you more seriously than he does me.”

“I did call him. On Tuesday.”

“And?”

“And nothing. He didn’t answer and he didn’t get back to me.” 

“So that’s it? You’re just going to take it sitting down? It’s a bit late in the game to find someone else,” said Laura, her voice rising.

“What do you want from me, Laura?” David slapped his hands down on the pure white Corian countertop and scraped back his chair, almost toppling it over. “What do you expect me to do? Go and get him by the scruff? Hit him over the head till he does as you say?” His voice shook and his eyes stared daggers at her.

She raised her hands in a fine-whatever-you-say gesture.

Great
, she thought.
Our first fight in our new home.

Her shoulders slumped as she placed the salad bowl on the kitchen table. Apparently there was no getting away from it. Not even a new house would stop them from getting on each other’s nerves. Her optimism had been short lived.

Why the hell had Hugo texted her?

And why in God’s name had she gone on about the electrician? But then again, why should she have to watch what she said to her husband? Why should she be the one that had to resolve all the problems? Without involving him, of course, because David had better things to do than concern himself with trivial domestic affairs.

Shit! Shit!  Shit!

Resentment and despair fought for an equal share of her heart. She felt tears prickle behind her eyelids, and fought hard to keep them back.

Without looking at her, David carried the pot of chicken stew to the table and rapped on the window to call Vanessa in. Despite their attempts to mask their feelings in front of Vanessa, dinner was a tense affair.

That night, the second in what was supposed to be their dream home, David and Laura went to bed without saying a word to each other. They lay back to back, careful not to touch each other and feigned sleep.

Laura felt the tears run down her cheeks and dabbed her face with the sheet, smearing black mascara all over the crisp organic cotton.

“That’s great, Laura. And that just about brings us to the end of this assignment,” smiled Sandra.

Laura nodded as she closed the new training module that they had been going through.
Thank God,
she thought.
If I have to fake another smile today, my face will crack. I can’t wait to get home.

Home. No, that wasn’t the solution either. There wasn’t much peace to be found there. She sighed inwardly and pasted a pleasant expression on her face.

“Yes, I’m pleased with the results. I’ll have the paperwork finalized by Monday.”

“Knock, knock.”

“Hey, Hugo,” said Sandra, looking past Laura whose back was to the doorway.

“Hello, ladies.”

Laura spun round in her chair, feeling her face flush. 

“How come you’re in so early?” asked Sandra. “Didn’t you get back late last night?” 

“Yes, but I managed to sleep on the plane, so I’m good now.”

You certainly look it
, thought Laura, casting a quick look along the length of him as he casually leaned against the doorjamb. He was sporting a two-day shadow that was speckled with white on his chin, and a cornflower blue tie that vied with his eyes for attention.

“How’d the trip go, Hugo?” she inquired politely although her immediate attention was more focussed on the glossy magazine picture before her. He could well be posing for a haute couture photoshoot—Hugo Boss, maybe. She smiled inwardly at the wicked associations her nimble brain conjured.

“Better than we expected, actually. We closed the deal we wanted, and there are a number of others that might be of interest to us. I’ll be going back next month to check things out.”

“That’s good news, indeed. You don’t want to take me along by any chance, do you? I could certainly do with a little holiday,” joked Sandra.

“Who said anything about a holiday? It’s going to be hard work, you know. Trying to break into a new market always is.”

“Yes, I know it is, but you obviously managed to squeeze in an hour or two of sunbathing! You look so tanned and healthy, especially compared to the rest of us.”

“Sunbathing!” Hugo snorted. “What you mean is hours of trawling worksites in hot humid weather until your clothes cling to you no matter how many showers you take.”

“Tut, tut. How I feel for you. Anyway, I have to dash out now. I have a dental appointment in twenty minutes. Laura, are we done for today?”

“Yes, we are. I’ll see you on Monday.”

Sandra shut down her computer and collected her jacket and shoulder bag from the coat rack. “OK, then,” she said, shrugging into her black bolero. “Gotta run, sorry.” A vivacious smile and she was gone, leaving a discrete floral waft of perfume in her wake. Something classy and expensive, thought Laura. Probably
Guilty
by Gucci, which was a rather apt description of the feelings Hugo’s appearance had brought on.

“So,...” said Laura, with all the self-assurance of a teenager on her first ever date. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and shifted awkwardly in her chair.

“Did you drive in today?” Hugo, on the other hand, spoke with the determination of a man on a mission.

“Yes, I did. I’m parked on the last level.”

“Well, leave your car there and meet me on minus one. You know where my parking space is? Just to the right of the cargo lift?”

“Yes, but...”

“We have about fifteen minutes before everyone starts going out for lunch. Go down now and I’ll meet you there. I’m just going to get my jacket from my office.”

He looked inquiringly at her and she stared up at him for a long moment.

Why the hell not
, she thought.
I’m done trying—nothing seems to work.

She nodded.

The direction lights flashed as Laura reached Hugo’s azurite black BMW. He trotted up to her and opened the passenger door. Glancing around quickly and seeing no one, he bent his head and placed a quick kiss on her lips. Then he strode round to his side of the car, got in, fired up the engine and drove out of the underground car park before anyone could see them.

“So where are we going?” asked Laura as they joined the traffic in the dual carriageway that hugged the river.

“I thought we could have a light lunch at my hotel. It’s just down the road.”

“Your hotel? I don’t understand.”

“I’m staying at the Tivoli until I find a place of my own. I left my wife,” replied Hugo as they stopped at a red light.

“What do you mean you left your wife?” Laura echoed, as though flummoxed by a complex notion.

“It was in the making, had been for a long time, in fact. And now this thing with us has just made it all clearer and brought things to a head.”

“But Hugo, you can’t leave your wife on my account!” exclaimed Laura, feeling rather alarmed. “I’m married, too, and you can’t expect me to…”

“Shh, it’s OK. I didn’t mean to pressure you. This would have happened sooner or later anyway.”

“But Hugo, I don’t want to be a home-wrecker! I really don’t want the responsibility of ruining another woman’s life.” She turned in her seat and looked earnestly at him.

“Fat chance of that,” snorted Hugo as the traffic light turned green. “Lidia will barely notice my absence. She has a busy life of her own and quite frankly, I think she sees me as an impediment more than anything else.  Rest assured that this separation was all very civilized and amicable.”

“Well, I’m certainly relieved to hear that. Hugo, I can’t make you any promises. I don’t know where this will lead us, but …”

“Hey, forget it. Forget everything. It’s just here and now—just you and me.” He took his hand off the steering wheel and squeezed hers.

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

Hugo released her hand to change gears and Laura stared straight ahead, clasping her hands tightly in her lap. Her mouth felt like the Atacama Desert.

This was it.

As they waited for the lift in the lobby, the pretext of lunch abandoned, Laura felt everyone was looking at her.
Do they know
? she wondered.
Can they tell that this is a mid-afternoon trys
t? It was absurd, of course. She knew that, but she couldn't help feeling self-conscious.
God, I hope I don't see anyone I know. How would I explain my presence here
?

Hugo, aware of her discomfit, smiled reassuringly and stroked her cheek. She tilted her head and rubbed the back of his hand with her shoulder.

After what seemed like an excruciatingly long time, the lift door finally opened and they stood aside to let a group of Asian tourists get off. Armed with expensive-looking cameras and guide books, they chatted excitedly as they headed for the revolving door in the lobby, undoubtedly determined to squeeze in as much sightseeing and shopping as they possibly could.

Laura and Hugo stepped onto the lift and, just as the door was about to shut, an elderly gentleman slid his hand in front of the light sensor, causing it to recoil and allowing him and his wife to board. They stepped back to accommodate the couple. All four exchanged polite smiles.

The gentleman carried a small backpack with a Swedish flag pin-back button.  She noticed they stood with their fingers entwined, loosely, casually—with the comfortable familiarity that comes from spending decades together.

How had they managed to make it work for so long? They looked relaxed and contented, happy to be holidaying in a foreign land, knowing that the sanctuary of their home awaited them whenever they chose to return.

Laura shifted uncomfortably. A nagging feeling tried to lodge itself at the back of her mind; it wormed its way slowly, insidiously, making her feel uneasy.

The floor indicator pinged as they reached the fifth floor; Hugo led Laura out of the lift and down a carpeted corridor. He stopped outside room 507 and fished his key card out of his breast pocket. He fumbled about for a moment before he managed to open the door.

“See, you're not the only one who's nervous,” he said, standing aside for her to enter.

She walked into the room. His personal items were strewn about, giving it a lived-in look that dispelled the impersonal ambience which pervades hotel rooms. She dropped her handbag into an armchair and turned round to face him, heart hammering now.

He walked up to her and, taking her hands in his, stared searchingly at her. Then he took her in his arms and kissed her gently. He pulled back and gazed down at her, an intense look on his face as though he were unable to believe that this moment, which he had fantasized about for so long, was finally happening. Then he squeezed his eyes shut and crushed her in a tight embrace. Feeling her lean into him, he pulled back and led her to the bed.