Thicker Than Soup (2 page)

James, so distant at work, had managed to make her feel he was a friend. Nevertheless she wasn't ready to tell him how much her heart still ached for her father. “It was a traffic accident, ten years ago,” she told him. “Sadly, such things happen. But what about you. What do you do in your spare time?”

James lifted his glass and looked through it at her. “I was happy talking about you. But, well, what do I like to do?” He chewed food. “I walk, often in the hills. Last year I went to South America, to Peru. Have you been there?” Sally shook her head and he told her about the Andes and somewhere she hadn't heard of called Machu Pichu. He told of people living on floating islands, and mountain people who ate mildly hallucinogenic coca leaves to combat altitude sickness. “Apparently, Himalayans have adapted to altitude, but the Andean hasn't.” He drained his glass. “I'd like to go to Pakistan. Did your father know the mountain areas?”

Sally knew little of the mountains. “He talked of a village, Thandiani, in the north where they escaped the heat of summer. But he talked mostly about Lahore.” Plates had been cleared and Sally scanned the dessert menu for chocolate. “Are you having dessert?”

James nodded his head. “Yes, I love puddings, and these tiny portions are all very pretty but they don't fill you up much, do they?”

“Well, I'm full but I can't resist chocolate. Have you had this Chocolate Sin Cake? It sounds like heaven.”

“Hmmm. They say that researchers have discovered chocolate produces the same reactions in the brain as marijuana. They also discovered other similarities but they can't remember what they are.”

Sally laughed at the joke. “Didn't chocolate come from South America originally? Maybe the Andean people made it from those cocoa beans you were telling me about.”

“That was coca leaves,” James corrected, “which are used to produce cocaine, not chocolate. I think chocolate originated in Central America. Didn't the Aztecs use it as an aphrodisiac?”

“Really? Well, wherever it came from and whatever it does, I'm glad it's here!”

James ordered. “Two Chocolate Sin Cakes, and coffee please.” He looked at Sally. “I take it you'd like coffee? And a brandy or something? I thought I'd better order coffee straight away or that early night you wanted won't happen.”

Looking at her watch Sally was surprised to see it was ten o'clock. “Good idea, but no brandy thanks; I've a call to make.” The restaurant had almost emptied and as their desserts and coffees arrived James asked for the bill.

“Not so fast.” She looked at the warm, dark cake on her plate. “I refuse to rush this.” Picking up her spoon she separated a small slice from the cake and inhaled the chocolate aroma. “Sensational!” she breathed, and putting it into her mouth let it slowly melt.

James watched in amazement. “I've never seen anyone eat so wickedly!”

Sally smiled but spoke no more until she'd scraped up the last crumb with her finger. “You know, I could give up chocolate but I'm not a quitter.”

*

They walked towards the hotel in companionable silence until James said he thought they had a number of things – beyond work – in common. “For example,” he said, “we both had strong fathers who insisted on their own idea of what made a good education. Your father sounded strict but fair. I'm afraid mine was just strict.”

Sally sensed resentment. “You were away at school?”

“I was happy to board; it was less regimented than home. I suppose I shouldn't be saying this but you already know my father sets high standards and likes to be in control. He, and Black and Emery are hard acts to live up to.” His breath seemed to dissolve in mist.

They reached the hotel and curiosity about James and his father encouraged her to agree to a nightcap. “So after Rugby you went to Oxford.”

“I did. I was fortunate to have all that but what I really wanted was music. I played the viola moderately well and wanted to play professionally. My music tutor wanted me to try for the Royal College but for my father, music was merely a hobby.”

“Do you still play?”

He shook his head. “There isn't time now. But Felicity, my youngest is musical. Her future will be different.” James raised his glass. “To our new found friendship.”

“Cheers.” Sally drank the toast and noted intentions for a daughter's future that echoed a father's control. “Well it sounds as if Felicity is talented and I wish her good luck. It's been an enjoyable evening but I must go.” She rose unsteadily and giggled. “Woops. Perhaps I shouldn't have had the Tia Maria after all.”

James walked beside her up the stairs and along the first floor corridor. When he rounded another corner she was about to assure him she could find her own way as he unlocked the door before hers, which, as the rooms would have been booked at the same time, wasn't as surprising as it seemed.

*

It was eleven-fifteen. She dialled home and waited eight, nine, ten rings then cut the line. Someone, a maid, had turned down the bed and closed the window and it was hot again; too hot. Kicking off her boots, she removed her thick warm tights and pulled her sweater over her head, struggling to undo buttons she'd forgotten to unfasten. A bed-side lamp careered to the floor and bending to retrieve it, she felt the room sway. “Water.” Freeing herself of the reluctant sweater she drank deeply from the bottle provided as the phone started to ring.

“John?”

A disinterested voice told her she had a call then the line clicked and she heard John's voice. “Hello?”

“John! I thought I'd missed you.” The bottle slipped from the edge of the table and a small wet pool spread across her discarded jumper.

“I've just got in. I guessed it'd be you.”

He sounded abrupt. “Oh. Erm. How are things?”

“You sound happy.”

“I'm all right.” Conversation faltered.

“How's your hotel?”

“It's alright.”

“And you're alright.”

“Yes. Thank you. How are you?”

“I'm alright.”

“John, please. I don't want to argue any….”

“Everything's alright then.”

“John, please…”

“You're having a nice time in a nice hotel care of Black and Emery who've kicked your friends out of their jobs.”

She caught her breath. “What? You mean Diane? John, I'm staying here because I need to be here and as for Diane, it seems to me that you are benefiting from her availability all too well!”

“At least she's interested in what I'm doing which is more than I can say about you, cosying up there with your Board cronies!”

She couldn't help herself; she kicked the stone. “For your information I've had a very nice evening with James. It's nice to find someone who's actually interested in me for a change!” She kicked again, harder. “So do what you want and GO TO HELL!”

There was no satisfaction to be had in slamming the receiver. Retrieving the spilled water bottle she hugged her knees and felt a desperate need for John's arms when a knock on the door startled her. Rising unsteadily she called softly. “Who is it?”

“Are you all right? I heard shouting. Is everything all right?”

It was James. Pulling on her wrap she opened the door. “I'm sorry,” she apologised, “I, er, I…” James's concern broke her last defence and she turned back into her room to hide unstoppable tears.

“What's happened?”

“It's nothing.” Her voice wavered. “Oh God, I'm sorry. I'll be all right in a minute.”

“Are you sure?” The door closed. “You look pretty upset to me. Can I do anything?”

An immaculate handkerchief appeared. “Here. I haven't used it, I promise.” He wiped her cheek and placed the handkerchief in her hand. “If I can help, you will say, won't you? After all we're friends now, you and I, aren't we?”

His arm moved and she registered how tall he was as he pulled her the few inches towards him. As his other arm wrapped around her waist she felt her face lift into a kiss that fired every nerve of her body. His hand moved inside the silk wrap, grazed her breast and slipped the strap from her shoulder before unsnapping her bra in a smooth, shockingly exquisite movement. She gasped. The hand returned to her breast. Hands – hers – released his shirt from the belted trousers and moved inside the crisp cotton, up, across the coolness of his back and as the loosened shirt rose over his head they fell together, backwards on to the bed, skin on skin, belly on belly. Her teeth bit his ear as he took her nipple into his mouth and her back arched as his tongue, sharp and pointed, flicked then licked whilst a hand tugged her skirt up over her hips and found its way between her thighs. He was unfastening his trousers when a moment of insight released a half whispered “No” that meant nothing as she felt him push, deep, and the brief awareness disappeared as her body responded in the ancient primal rhythm that took her quickly into urgent, gasping, arching orgasm.

*

She woke with a feeling of great thirst. A little surprised to find the bedside light on and more surprised to find herself still partly dressed, she remembered. Humiliation burned a wave of shame. Thankfully she was alone in the bed. The clock told her she'd slept for around three hours and groaning, she turned on her side, curling below the covers and smelling what they'd done. Tossing aside the covers and peeling off clothes she went to the bathroom, dropped her pants in the bin and let a scalding shower sting as she scrubbed mercilessly, seeking pain until, wrapped in a large, hotel robe, she took her undried body back to the bed and lay rigidly above the soiled sheets. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

With aching head and parched mouth she went in search of aspirins in her toilet bag, washed them down with several refills of the tumbler, and returned to the blankets.

The toilet bag! Her birth-control pills? Snapping on the light she ran to the bathroom and searched the bag. The contents cascaded into the sink; face cream, perfume, lipstick, nail file. The pills weren't there. It was Thursday and she was away from home until Sunday. Her head pounded. “Idiot!” Item by item she replaced her toiletries and returned to the bed where the clock glowed the hours and minutes for the rest of the night until at six she got up. Another shower freshened, and with make-up applied carefully she left the room in search of an unaccompanied breakfast.

James was already there, reading the paper. Swallowing a wave of embarrassment she lifted her chin. “Good morning.” A shadow of uncertainty that crossed his face gave her some satisfaction. “May I join you?”

“Er, well. Actually, I've almost finished. But, yes, do sit down.”

Ordering coffee from a hovering waitress she took the seat opposite. “About last night.” She smoothed a napkin across her lap. “I think that we should assume it didn't happen.”

“Of course. If that's what you want.” James put aside his paper. “But of course, it did.”

The skin on her neck and face burned and she spoke quietly. “I don't think it would have happened if I hadn't drunk so much and even accepting that, it's not something I go around doing. It won't happen again.”

“It could, you know.” James smiled a thin smile. “There's no harm done.”

“No harm…?” She kept her voice low. “What if John, or your wife, or someone at work found out?”

“Why would anyone find out? I'm hardly likely to tell my wife – I'm a happily married man! Likewise, you're hardly likely to tell your boyfriend.”

“Happily married? You…,” she failed to find a word she was prepared to use.

“Oh Sally. Grow up!” James leant forward. “It was sex! I don't love you, but I enjoyed last night. What's wrong with that?”

Where was the charming man she'd dined with? She leaned forward too. “No James. It wasn't just… It was a mistake. A big mistake. And it won't happen again. I sincerely hope that neither of us will ever mention it again.”

“Well, that's one thing my father is right about; it's the sort of thing that happens when women get men's jobs. They can't handle it. But if that's what you want,” he condescended, “consider last night undone!” He prepared to leave. “But I'm not sorry it happened. I enjoyed it.”

Did he seriously think she'd sleep with him again? And… the sort of thing that happens when… As he walked away humiliation won over indignation. The Black family machine was truly indomitable.

*

By the time Sally arrived at her mother's house it was all she could do to sit and drink tea before escaping to the innocence of her childhood bed for a few hours. When later, she found her mother still – or again – in the kitchen, she apologised. “Sorry, Mum. It's been a busy time.”

“Feeling better? You looked done in. John's not coming then? I'd made the bed.” Her mother, still finding it impossible to tolerate them sleeping together, had prepared her brother's room. “I hardly ever see you together.” A peeled potato plopped into a pan. “I suppose you'd do things together more if you were married but…”

“No, Mum. We wouldn't.” The conversation had taken place many times. “It's the same. A piece of paper won't make any difference.”

“Well, your father and I never gallivanted around like you do, I know that. We lived together too you know.”

It wasn't worth an argument. “Shall I check the oven?”

“Thanks, love. It should be nearly done. It's lamb casserole. You still look a bit tired. Tell you what, make some tea and see what's on the TV for later.”

Sally didn't need to be told she looked tired. She was tired of remembering. Each memory washed over her, refreshing shame with a stomach crunching guilt that craved forgiveness that John would never give. She poured boiling water over tea leaves and picked up the Radio Times. The next day she'd go home, apologise for their scrap, and be sorry for so much more.