Two Loves (10 page)

‘Five hours! Just someone you happened to run into. Oh Rosamund, get with it. The world is full of men who enjoy making women suffer – and he's obviously one of them.'

Rosamund gave her a long, hurt look. ‘I used to be so intimidated by him, but he's gentler now, much less sure of himself.'

‘For God's sake, don't turn it into a tragedy. You met someone, but he turned out to be a wrong 'un. Just forget him.'

‘I stayed there for hours, trusting him, having complete faith in him.'

‘Rosamund, you're an idiot, but please don't cry. Would you like a coffee?'

‘I meant to visit Erica again tomorrow, but now I'm far too upset. I feel desperate, Ingrid. As though everything I've ever wanted has slipped away from me. He was so loving, so wholehearted. I can't accept that he was only having a game with me.'

‘Well, perhaps he wasn't. Perhaps he intended to meet you, but after sleeping on it, realised that he was taking on more than he could cope with. You're a very intense person, Rosamund. People just aren't used to that these days.'

‘I was only intense because he was. I've always been timid. I've never made the first move towards anyone. But we were so close and happy last night. It was as if all the dreams I'd had in college had come true. I had such a feeling of well-being; he was free – I mean, he wasn't married or anything – and there seemed nothing to keep us apart. Oh Ingrid, what can I do now? How can I find him again? He's not in any of the directories. I phoned every art gallery, but no one had his address. One or two people thought they might have heard of him, but no one had his address or telephone number.'

‘Has he got your address?'

‘No. You see, we were meant to be meeting again today. He was going to come home with me on Friday. He said he wanted to come to live with me – I mean, to share my studio. How could he have changed his mind overnight?'

‘But how could you expect him to leave London, the life he knows, all his friends, to follow you to the country where he knows no one? After one chance meeting? Anyway, what would your son think if you suddenly brought a man home with you? Surely you'd have to consider the effect on Joss?'

‘No, he'd be my lodger, that's all. I've often spoken of having someone to share my studio, Joss knows that.'

‘Come on, if you were thinking of him only as a lodger, you wouldn't be this upset.'

‘No, of course I wouldn't. I couldn't help hoping it would develop into something more. That Joss would warm to him, he's very well-adjusted, he'd like Daniel, I know he would. And, yes, I also hoped Daniel would want to stay. Oh Ingrid, he said he loved me. I know you think I'm exaggerating, trying to make a chance encounter seem a miracle, but that's what it seemed to me. I couldn't sleep last night for the wonder of it.'

‘Have another drink. And listen to me. You wanted to meet a new boyfriend – you told me that – and you wanted another child. You met someone halfway presentable and you were ready to imagine he was the answer to all your prayers. Very dangerous.'

‘How can I find him again? Let me decide the rest.'

‘He'll find you if he wants to. If he doesn't, what's the point of trying to track him down? You won't be able to make him change his mind. Tell yourself it was only a dream. I've often had wonderful dreams – that someone loves me so much I know I'm going to be safe and happy for the rest of my life. And then I have to wake up and face all the rubbish again. It wasn't much more than a dream, Rosamund.'

‘It was. He was real, a real person – skinny body, shabby clothes, deep loving eyes. I loved him fifteen years ago, but I lost him because I was frightened and timid. And everything I did afterwards was because of that failure … and I thought I was having a second chance.'

‘You must put him right out of your mind.'

‘Must I? I'm so tired I can't think straight. I stood around for hours waiting for him. Oh, I'll go home tomorrow and never venture to London again. How can I even think of writing this book when I don't understand the first thing about life!'

‘I'll tell you the first thing about life. And I'm not even drunk yet. Love is bloody great, yes, but it's never for the right person at the right time.
Never.
But quite often work can save your sanity, OK? So go to see Erica again tomorrow. You can't let her down. You were full of plans when you rang me last night. What's the matter now?'

‘I was just thinking of Joss. I didn't ring him last night. Would you mind if I phoned him now? It might cheer me up.'

‘Go ahead. Oh, where the hell is Ben? Bastard! He said he'd try to be back early.'

*   *   *

It was Joss who answered the phone. ‘Mr and Mrs Spiers,' he said. ‘Who shall I say called?'

‘Hello, Joss, it's me. It's Mum.'

‘Oh.' He sounded disappointed.

‘Who were you expecting?'

‘Anyone really. It's just they've got a new pad here for jotting down messages. Do you want to leave any messages?'

‘Where are Mum and Brian?'

‘At the pub.'

‘At the pub?' She tried to keep the surprise out of her voice.

‘It's Wednesday. They always go to the George on Wednesday.'

‘Well, how are you, darling?'

‘Very-well-thank-you-how-are-you.'

‘I'm quite well too.'

‘So do you want to leave a message for them?'

‘No, thank you.' How could they go to the pub and leave a nine-year-old alone?

‘Not even “love from Rosamund”?'

‘Not even that.'

‘But the thing is, I'd rather like to write a message on the pad. It's a new one bought specially.'

‘OK. Put this down; “Mum rang at nine-thirty and was surprised to find you out.”'

‘Is it all right if I put nine-twenty because I'm supposed to be in bed by nine-thirty?'

‘Yes, that's fine.'

‘Mum, are you angry about something?'

‘Not really. Listen, I'll be home on Friday. I'm looking forward to that – are you?'

‘Do you want to speak to Linda?'

‘Who's Linda?'

‘A childminder. That's something like a babysitter but much more trouble, she says.'

‘Joss, will you tear that message from the pad and write, “Rosamund phoned and sent her best love and thanks.”'

‘“Rosamund phoned and sent her best love and thanks.” Right. Lucky I'm here, isn't it, to take down all these messages.'

‘And best love to you as well.'

‘Shall I tell you a rhyme I learnt at school today?'

‘No, thanks. I know the sort of rhymes you learn at school. Write it down on the pad for Brian.'

*   *   *

‘He's so lovely,' she told Ingrid, ‘and he'd have loved Daniel. They'd have got on so well.'

‘Where the hell is Ben? He promised to be home by seven.'

‘He's always been in my mind, I think, the way he used to be; so young and formidable.'

‘People get older. I used to be young and formidable.'

‘You still are. In your prime and glossy as a cat. If I could paint, I'd love to paint you. I'd like to paint this room, too. Your flat, it's so full and cluttered. Dora's is very elegant with hardly anything in it. You feel you have to sit in just the right place or you'll spoil the effect. ‘

‘This is only cluttered because it's got all my things in it as well as Ben's and neither of us is willing to get rid of anything. It's a mess really. We've only been together three months and we're fighting already. He's staying out to punish me, I'm sure. He doesn't like me having friends. Oh, sod him! What was Erica's place like?'

‘Very Edwardian. A lot of deep red. Very voluptuous.'

‘You must see her again tomorrow.'

‘Ingrid, you seem obsessed with Erica. Why are you so keen that I go again?'

There was a moment's hard silence.

‘I know Ben would be thrilled if I could get some photographs of you and Erica together.'

‘Why?'

‘It would add weight to the book, wouldn't it? The fact that you meet would indicate that you're on her side.'

‘And against Molly?'

‘Not necessarily. But you must see that a picture on the jacket of an eighty-year-old mistress and a thirty-year-old wife would be a superb sales gimmick.'

‘I wonder if he'd like me topless as well? Would that be an even more effective gimmick?'

‘It would all be perfectly discreet, I promise you, all perfectly circumspect. Ben isn't the sort who'd go for anything vulgar. He's a serious journalist.'

‘Does he stand to make a lot of money from this book?'

‘He hasn't mentioned money to me. Why?'

‘If money doesn't corrupt people, it certainly seems to confuse them.'

‘I'm sure he'd be prepared to pay you a percentage if you cooperated with him.'

‘When you came to the schoolhouse, you told me that you had no ulterior motive in visiting me. It seems to me you had. You wrote an article about me, but you were also probing and plotting for Ben.'

‘Probing and plotting, that sounds awful. I would do a lot for him, but not that. I only want to take some photographs of you and Erica Underhill in her Edwardian sitting-room. Is that so awful?'

‘I don't suppose it is. I think I'm just getting hungry. I always get bad-tempered when I'm hungry.'

‘I'll phone now; two Lotus House specials. No, Ben won't be home for a meal. He's drinking somewhere now.'

Ingrid phoned the restaurant while Rosamund sat very still, studying her long, thin hands as though seeing them for the first time.

‘I had a manfriend until quite recently,' she told Ingrid when she came back. ‘He was really nice, we got on well together, but then his wife lost her job and wanted him back—'

Ingrid cut in, ‘And that's why you're desperate for someone else.'

‘That's not what I meant. I was simply going to say that I'm not completely inexperienced, that I have some knowledge of love, that I do know what I want.'

‘I thought I knew what I wanted. For about three weeks after meeting Ben, I couldn't sleep for excitement. We've been living together for three months and already the best is over … Let's have another drink.'

*   *   *

It was just after one-thirty when Ingrid decided that Ben didn't intend to come back that night, and if he did, he could bloody well sleep on the sofa. ‘You can sleep in my bed,' she told Rosamund, ‘the sofa's hideously uncomfortable.' She threw a blanket and a sheet onto the sofa and she and Rosamund got ready for bed, said goodnight and turned the lights off.

After a while, though, Ingrid turned the bedside light back on, leaned over onto her elbow and pulled back the duvet.

‘I've never had any lesbian tendencies,' Rosamund said nervously. ‘Not even when I was fifteen. So just go to sleep, all right?'

‘Neither have I,' Ingrid said, ‘but we're both miserable and we can try to comfort ourselves a bit, can't we?' She put her hand on Rosamund's breast, circling the nipple very gently with her index finger. ‘Take your T-shirt off,' she said. ‘What's the harm?'

Rosamund complied rather crossly. ‘We'll be so embarrassed about this in the morning,' she said.

Ingrid moved up closer to her and leaning over started to lick her nipples very slowly and lazily with the tip of her tongue, first one and then the other. When she felt her begin to relax, she started to suck them, first one and then the other, as slowly and gently as before. Soon she could feel Rosamund move her belly towards her, a very slight movement, not much deeper than breathing. She lifted her head and saw her closed eyes and her slightly open mouth. At that point she raised herself and lay over her, her belly over hers, their pubic mounds together. And she kissed her, thrusting her tongue deep into her mouth while her hand stroked the soft flesh of her inner thigh.

‘That's all,' Rosamund said, heaving her away. ‘I just don't want this. I know you think you're comforting me, but it's not what I want.'

‘What makes you imagine I was thinking about you?' Ingrid asked. She sighed and turned her back on Rosamund. ‘Could you put your arm round me, please?'

Rosamund moved close to her, kissed her shoulder, put her arm tightly around her and they slept almost immediately.

*   *   *

When Rosamund woke she could hear Ingrid and Ben having a ferocious quarrel in the kitchen. It was nine o'clock. Ingrid should have left the flat half an hour before, she was blaming Ben for her lateness and he was blaming her for his uncomfortable night on the sofa. ‘You know why she's here,' Ingrid was saying through gritted teeth. ‘She's here because you wanted me to interview her.'

Rosamund had a shower and dressed, and when she joined them they were having coffee together, not yet friends but at least observing a truce of sorts.

‘I'm sorry I turned you out of your bed,' Rosamund said, as soon as Ingrid had introduced them. ‘Ingrid didn't expect you back last night.' She took the coffee he passed her. ‘When did you get back?' she asked sweetly.

‘About two, I suppose.'

‘Liar,' Ingrid said. ‘I was awake till after three.'

‘We both were,' Rosamund added. ‘Whatever were you doing till three? Not working, I hope?'

‘I went back to a friend's,' Ben said, the looks he was directing at her indicating that it was certainly none of her business. ‘I knew Ingrid had company, so we had a few drinks together.'

‘Ingrid and I had a few drinks together, too,' she said pleasantly.

Ben was small and very good-looking, black hair cut very short and olive skin, a khaki shirt and trousers. Rosamund didn't like him, didn't trust him, and realised he felt the same about her.