And there was the guilt over
Nicolette. Maybe this was a
way of
saying sorry.
But most of all, he realized, she had
arrived back in his life
at the right time, just when he was feeling so lonely and
incomplete that he would have fallen into bed with a
stranger anyway.
Without saying a word he reached out
and touched the thin
silk strap of her vest, watching it slide down her narrow shoulder
like a raindrop. He could see how much
she wanted him. And
since he wanted
someone as well, why not Roz?
The other
strap fell. She wasn’t wearing a bra. Realizing thathe still had on his
battered leather flying jacket, he shrugged it off, unbuttoned his shirt and
watched Roz’s scarlet fingernails snake lightly down his bare chest.
And finally she was in his arms, kissing his mouth and
teasing him
with her tongue.
Breaking
away for a second, Nico said, ‘I thought you were supposed to be conducting an
interview.’
‘I am,’ Roz
assured him, her voice husky with longing as she undid his trousers. ‘And I
know all the right things to say, too.’
At four thirty in the morning, after
two hours of the purest
misery as he lay awake and – more alone than ever – realized
with increasing clarity what he had done, Nico slid out of
bed, found his clothes in the dark and silently let himself out of the room.
Last night, high on champagne and the powerful blast of
post-concert adrenalin, it had seemed like a good idea.
Now he simply couldn’t face Roz, the
worst person in the
world he could have
slept with. The final straw had been when, just before slipping into an
exhausted sleep, she had curled her
arm
around him and whispered, ‘Don’t tell me
that
wasn’t as
good as
it was with Camilla Stewart.’
Rigid with self-loathing and disgust, Nico had stayed
awake,
smoking endless cigarettes and
castigating himself for his
stupidity. The scent of Roz’s perfume
revolted him now. The sordidness of his presence in her bed sickened him still
further.
After the first bout of lovemaking she had said, ‘You
married Caroline because of me, didn’t you?’ and he had nodded in the darkness.
‘It’s been a disaster, hasn’t it?’ she had continued, and there had seemed to
be little point in denying it. He had nodded again, and felt Roz’s smile
against his shoulder.
‘I did warn you, darling. We know each other too well. You
should have listened to me at the time. Still, it’s not too late.’
Managing to make his way out of the hotel without encount
ering anyone other than an ancient night porter who
clearly
didn’t recognize him, Nico
stepped into the road and flagged
down
a cab. Happily, in this area of London, there were still
some about at
such an ungodly hour.
Oh, but it
was
too late, he thought as he collapsed
on to the
back seat and realized that he was going
to have to pay the fare
by American
Express. Far, far too late. He had been a bloody
fool but he wasn’t going to allow himself to be made an even
bigger
one.
Going to bed with Roz had been like
eating snails for the
first time; something to try once and never repeat. Well, he
hadn’t been doing it for the first time, but at least he
knew now that he would never do it again. She was exorcized, out of his
system for good, and he need never wonder in future
what
might have been, because now he knew.
There was
no love there.
Nor was there any in his marriage of
course, but while
Caroline
was making such superhuman efforts to keep it intact
he hadn’t the heart to dump her.
Nico rested his head against the
window and watched the
empty
streets flash past as that familiar black cloak of loneliness surrounded him
once more. He would tell Caroline that he had
gone
out with Monty and Shaun to a club, and then on to a
Chinese restaurant – not Indian or Italian, he
didn’t smell
garlicky enough – and
even if she didn’t believe him she
wouldn’t
show it. Hurt silences and hysterical outbursts were
things of the past now, replaced by determined
smiles and
endless understanding.
God, he thought wearily, if only I
loved her we could have
had the
happiest marriage in London.
His thoughts strayed then to Camilla,
who appeared to hold
that particular title at the moment, and he resolutely veered
away from it. It came as some small
consolation – even though
at the same
time he hated himself for realizing it – that just now
Loulou was as miserable as he was. Funny how it had never
even
occurred to either of them to jump into bed together, considering how close
they had been over the past few years.
Not for the first time Nico considered the situation – and
the
possibility – but for the life of him he
simply couldn’t imagine
it. The affection they felt for each other was
that of good friends, nothing more.
And thank God for that, he thought
with a ghost of a smile.
At least it
was one less relationship that could go disastrously wrong.
‘
‘Ere you are then, gu
y
,’
said the cab driver, pulling up
outside
the front gates of Nico’s house. ‘That’ll be twenty quid
to you. Any
chance of a couple of autographs for me daughters while you’re ‘ere?’
‘
No problem at all,’
said Nico politely. ‘Er . . . I don’t seem
to have any cash on me.
American Express OK?’
‘
Bleedin"ell,’
sighed the cabbie. Then he turned and winked
at Nico, and threw across a
pen. ‘Nah, no problem, mate. No bleedin’ problem at all.’
Ch
apter
40
Matt pulled Camilla into his arms and kissed her so
thoroughly that she thought she might faint right there on the sun-drenched
terrace overlooking the back garden. The realization only served
to convince her even more that her suspicions were
correct and
in a blaze of love and joy she almost told him there and
then.
It took all her strength not to.
Tonight was the night and
after hugging the secret knowledge to herself for over three days now she
was determined to hang on to it for just a few
hours more.
June 24th. It had been Matt’s idea to celebrate their
half-anniversary in style and he had produced the tickets for
Phantom
of the Opera
on Saturday morning with justifiable pride. They
were like
gold-dust at the moment.
‘Buy yourself a spectacular dress,’ he had announced,
leering wickedly. "The less there is of it, the better. We’re going to see
Phantom,
then have dinner at Le Gavroche, maybe take in a few
clubs, then come back here and take all our
clothes off and
indulge in a few hours
of post-marital screwing. And I’ll warn
you in advance that I paid a
visit to Cartier yesterday and we’re now broke. That’s so you’ll know that I’ll
be expecting a little
surprise present in
return,’ he added, his expression grave. ‘I
thought I’d better tell you so you won’t find yourself in one of
those
embarrassing situations . .
‘I would have run upstairs, pulled a couple of pairs of
socks out of the airing cupboard, wrapped them up and given them
back to you,’ said Camilla sweetly, wriggling out
of reach as
Matt began biting her earlobe.
‘
No-one can say that my
wife isn’t economical,’ he mur
mured, his strong white teeth increasing their
pressure.
‘She needs
to be,’ Camilla protested, ‘the way her husband flings his money around . . .
ouch!’
Well, she had her surprise present all right, she thought
as they made their way, arm in arm, through to the front of the house.
And it hadn’t been easy keeping it a surprise
either. It had always amazed her when she watched those old black-and
white films on TV and the young wife announced coyly to her
husband that she had something to tell him . . .
Why on earth,
she had wondered, hadn’t he guessed? Was the man stupid or
something?
But by some miracle and a small
amount of trickery she
had managed
to deceive Matt. Thanks to the memories — still clear in her mind — of how she
had felt when she was pregnant
with first
Charlotte and then Toby, she had known almost
straight away this time. The faint nausea, the suddenly acute
sense
of smell . . . much of it had been indefinable, but Camilla
recognized it and clung to the realization with all
the joyful
fervour of a drowning man
being thrown a fully-equipped
yacht.
And when Matt had informed her of his
planned semi-
anniversary
celebrations she had decided that then would be the
perfect time to tell him. Placing a box of Tampax in pole position
in the bathroom, she had taken to clutching her
stomach
occasionally and complaining
vaguely of period pains. By
tonight
though, she had intimated, all would be well again.
They could make love
to their hearts’ content.
‘
Don’t get stuck at the
bar this afternoon,’ she warned him
now
as they exchanged a final kiss on the front steps of the
house. Matt was
playing in a pro-celebrity match at Sunningdale
which was being televised, and he and Jacko were partnering two
comedians notorious for their drinking prowess. The last
time he had played with one of the celebrities he
had rolled
home in a taxi at two o’clock
in the morning and his hangover
the next day had been one of the
all-time greats.
‘
Orange juice,’ declared
Matt with a sweeping gesture, ‘is
all
that shall pass my lips. And I shall be home by five thirty,
to escort my gorgeous wife to the theatre. How
often, after
all, does one get the chance to celebrate one’s six-months’
anniversary?’
‘
Dahlink,’ breathed
Camilla, doing a passable imitation of
Zsa Zsa Gabor. ‘As often as
possible, of course.’
She stood and waved as Matt reversed the new dark green
Mercedes – his pride and joy – across the drive
and then edged
his way out into the early morning traffic. When he was
out of
sight she gazed with satisfaction at
the banks of roses which
scented the
whole garden – beating even the intrusive petrol
fumes – and the riotously tumbling honeysuckle which en
veloped the high stone wall separating their
garden from next
door. When she had cleared the breakfast dishes from
the terrace
she would return and cut an
armful of roses for the sitting-
room.
After that, she had an appointment
with her hairdresser, then
a lunch
date with Zoë at a new Italian restaurant in Wimbledon.
She only hoped Zoë wouldn’t be too intrigued when she dis
covered that she was avoiding alcohol. Matt had to
be the first
to know. If Zoë found
out it would be all over the city by
sundown.
Smiling, she glanced down at her stomach then turned and
made her way back into the cool, flower-scented hall.
Tonight,
during their celebration dinner amidst the glorious
elegance of Le Gavroche, she would break the news to Matt
that he
was going to have a baby.
Really, thought Camilla at four thirty that afternoon,
this family was expanding by the minute.
The latest addition, having just peed
for the third time on
Zoë’s kitchen floor – in a small gap
between
the sheets of
newspaper which had hastily been thrown down – now
launched itself at Camilla’s ankle, its back paws scrabbling frantically for
leverage against her shoe. Bending down, she picked up the six-week-old puppy –
billed as a collie-labrador cross but clearly
endowed
with other dubious connections – and buried her face
in the soft, sherry-gold fur of his neck. Rocky
snuffled and
squirmed in ecstasy, his
legs still paddling crazily in mid-air,
and Zoë yelled, ‘Put him down, Cami. He’s going to pee again,
I
know it.’