Tess Stimson - The Adultery Club (26 page)

I scour Salisbury for something truly special, a miracle

of a dress that will successfully hide the fact that whilst

I may technically be the same size ten I was before I had

three children, there’s no denying that everything has

shifted a little further - well, south. At what age do you

give up on your looks, I wonder. Sixty? Seventy? When

do you decide, OK, I’m done, no more mascara, no more

highlights, no more diets, I’m just going to get saggy and

grey and wrinkled and fat and happy?

You know, I can’t wait to be old. It’s middle age that

petrifies the life out of me.

I finally find what I’m looking for in one of those

dreadful boutiques where the shop assistants look like

Parisian models and you have to ring a doorbell to get in.

I would never have even dared to enter if I hadn’t been!

desperate. But it really is a lovely dress, I think, as I stand in the middle of the shop floor and wrestle with my

conscience. It fits me perfectly. It might be expensive but

it’s such good quality, it’ll last for ages. And it’s in the

sale; only ten per cent off, but still, ten per cent is ten per cent. I know I wasn’t going to buy black again, but this is

totally different from my other black dresses. I haven’t got

one that’s above the knee like this, and anyway black is

timeless, it’ll never go out of style, and so slimming. And

of course I won’t have to buy new shoes, my old black

courts will go perfectly, so that’ll save money. It’d be a

false economy not to get it.

And then at the till, as one credit card after another is

declined, and I pull out the emergency only-if-the-roof

comes-down plastic, only to find that it too is over the

limit - though since I haven’t seen a bill for ages, I have

no idea by how much - I wonder if I can possibly persuade

Nicholas to take back the extravagant La Perla

without offending him.

Scarlet with embarrassment, I turn to slink out of the

shop, feeling like a criminal. The smart assistant probably

thinks I’m a bankrupt, one of those shopaholics you read

about, or worse, that I stole the cards ‘I

thought it was you,’ Tr.uv jrhiH, barring my path.

I’m not quite sure why Nicholas is being so strange. First

yesterday, when I called to ask him what time to get Kit

over to babysit for Valentine’s Day-‘I don’t know what time he said tightly, ‘I might be

working, anyway.’

‘But it’s all organized! I’ve booked the Lemon Tree!’ I

exclaimed.

‘Yes, I realize that, but it can’t be helped.’

‘Nicholas, we’re talking about Valentine’s Day I said,

disappointment sharpening my tone. ‘I’ve barely seen you

for weeks, you’re working the most ridiculous hours these

days, ever since you made partner - well, ever since Will

Fisher retired really - and I’m sorry to call you on your

mobile when you’re clearly in the middle of an important

meeting, but frankly, what else am I supposed to do? You

miss the children’s special events, you’re shut in your

office at weekends, some nights you’re barely home before

it’s time to go back to work again; if I didn’t see the sheets

crumpled in the spare room I wouldn’t even know you’d been here. I think the least you can do is spend one day Valentine’s Day - with your wife.’

‘Look—’

‘I really don’t think it’s too much to ask, do you?’

‘Look, Malinche. I said I’m sorry, but the Court doesn’t

see February the fourteenth as anything other than the

day that happens to fall between February the thirteenth

and February the fifteenth

It was his tone, really, rather than anything he’d actually

said. As if I was a tiresome child, a nagging wife; so

unfair, when that isn’t me, has never been me.

‘I’ve been so looking forward to it I said quietly.

‘I know; I know you have, but—’

‘Nicholas. Please don’t sigh I interrupted, really hurt

and angry now. ‘If you think your work is more important

than—’

‘Look, we’ll talk about it when I get home.’

‘When?’ I demand. ‘When would that be? Precisely,

Nicholas? Because I can’t see exactly how you’re going to

fit us into your very busy schedule. Actually.’

When he hung up on me, I couldn’t quite believe it.

He’s never hung up on me in all the years we’ve been

married. We’ve always talked things through, however

difficult and painful that has been - and we’ve been

married ten years, of course it’s been difficult and painful

at times.

And then after that row, that rather horrid row, when

I phoned the office this morning, Emma said he wasn’t working tonight after all, at least there was nothing in his diary - that tricky case must’ve settled. So I thought I’d

surprise him by coming up to London and taking him out

to his favourite sushi restaurant in Covent Garden (so

funny, that Nicholas loves sushi; to people who don’t

know him, he always seems more of a school-dinners

treacle-pudding kind of man); we haven’t been there for ages.

I’d meant it as an olive branch, my way of saying sorry

that we’d argued. But somehow, it’s not going quite as I

hoped.

The orange glow from the street lamps casts strange

shadows across his face as he leans against the side of the

black cab next to me. It makes him look suddenly old;

and very tired.

A cold hand IwihIh my Ntommh. I k looked so shocked

when I w.ilkrd into Iiin olhiv Ii.iII Ťin hour ago, I thought

Banquo’s ghost must be behind me. He still seems - oh,

Lord, perhaps he’s ill. What if that’s it? He’s ill and he

hasn’t told me? Cancer, even.

‘Is everything all right?’ I ask anxiously as the cab

drops us off in Covent Garden. ‘Are you sure you feel—’

‘I’m fine. Please don’t keep asking.’

I follow him nervously into Yuzo’s, slipping off my coat and wondering if he’ll notice my new dress. Heat rises in my cheeks. So sweet of Trace - totally unnecessary,

I’m sure he wasn’t planning to buy all the front-of-house

restaurant staff black Max Mara outfits - but after he

stepped in and saved the day like that, how could I say

no to the sourcing trip in Italy? After turning down

France. Especially when he explained that Cora and Ben,

his business partners, were coming too; it’s not like I’m

going to be alone with him - it’s only five days - I just

don’t know if Nicholas is going to see it the same way-‘Isn’t that Sara!’ I exclaim.

‘I don’t know. Is it?’

‘Well, of course it is, darling.’ I nudge his elbow. ‘We

can’t just ignore her. Come on, say hello to the poor girl.

She looks absolutely terrified of you.’

Which is rather strange; because I thought they got on

quite well.

I’m sure she doesn’t want us to interrupt—’

Men. Sometimes you do wonder.

‘How lovely to see you!’ I say warmly, to make up

for Nicholas’s scowl. ‘What a funny coincidence! Are

you meeting someone - but of course you are, it’s Valentine’s

Day, what a silly question. I’m sure you’ve had

dozens of exciting cards too, it’s so lovely to be young

and single.’

ŚiSfiSi

,i

She blushes rather sweetly. ‘Not really—’

‘Malinche, let’s go and sit down.’

I remember how horrible it is to be sitting and waiting

at a table on your own, feeling as if everyone is looking at

you and wondering if you’ve been stood up. ‘What a lovely bracelet, Sara. Tiffany, isn’t it? Lucky, lucky you, I’ve always wanted one of those.’

‘Malinche—’

‘Nicholas, do stop. So, is this your first Valentine’s

together, Sara? Or is it wildly indiscreet of me to ask? It’s

always so romantic, I think, when—’ ?

Her phone beeps twice; she scans her messages, and

then suddenly jumps up and grabs her coat. ‘Oh, God,

I’m a complete idiot, he’s in the sushi bar on the other side

of the square, I must have got it wrong. So lovely to meet

you again, Mrs Lyon, have a lovely evening. See you

tomorrow, Nick, bye.’

I can’t quite explain the feeling of relief. Sara is a very attractive girl - even dear loyal Nicholas couldn’t help but notice she exudes a sensuality no red-blooded male could

ignore; but she is clearly taken, off the market, as it were,

which is so wonderful. For her.

‘Well, she seems very keen,’ I smile. ‘How lovely.’

‘Can we order, please, Mai?’ Nicholas says tiredly.

I’m sure he’s sickening for something. The last time he

was like this, he ended up in bed for four days with a

temperature of a hundred and two. He’s so distracted he

can barely hold up his end of the conversation through

dinner, and nearly forgets to give me the glossy paper bag

he was putting into his briefcase when I walked into his

office. Only when I tcasinly remind him does he hand it

over to me with ;i faint smile.

‘I’m sorry. I - um - I didn’t get you a card,’ he says,

not quite meeting my eye.

‘Oh, Nicholas. As if that matters I open the bag and

unwrap a flimsy parcel of pale pink tissue. A slither of

plum silk whistles into my lap. ‘Oh, how beautiful]’ Holding

the delicate bra-and-knickers set up against my chest,

I take care not to let the fragile lace brush against my

dirty plate. ‘Do you like them?’

‘Of course. I wouldn’t have bought them otherwise.’

I glance at the labels and laugh. ‘I can tell it’s been a

while. These are two sizes too big, I’ll have to take them

back and exchange them. You kept the receipt, didn’t

you?’ I hesitate, suddenly spotting the tiny duck-egg-blue

box at the bottom of the bag. ‘Oh, Nicholas. You didn’t—’

I draw a breath when I see the silver hoop earrings.

‘Nicholas. They’re exquisite. I don’t know what to say.’

For a moment, neither of us speaks. I have the strangest

sensation, as if I’m standing on the edge of a cliff, my life

hanging in the balance.

Then, ‘Happy Valentine’s Day Nicholas says softly.

He smiles at me, a quiet smile that reaches his eyes;

and it’s as if a warm Caribbean breeze sweeps gently

across our table.

I kiss his cheek. ‘I don’t know why I deserve all this,

but thank you. You really are the most romantic man and

I’m sorry I got so upset yesterday, I didn’t mean—’

‘No, I’m sorry he says quickly. ‘I’m sorry about

everything.’

‘What do you have to be sorry for?’

‘For not appreciating you the way I should. For not

being grateful for what I have. For not telling you that

I love you often enough. And I do love you, Mai.’ His

ŚsM

expression is suddenly hunted. ‘I love you more than I

can tell you. I don’t ever want to lose you.’

‘You’re not going to lose me—’

‘Don’t laugh. I mean it, Mai. Sometimes things happen - people make mistakes - and you don’t realize what you have until it’s too late.’

The purple silk lies pooled in my lap. ‘What are you

trying to say, Nicholas?’

‘Nothing. I just - you and the girls, you come first, you

know that. Don’t you?’

‘Of course I do,’ I say uncertainly.

Suddenly, I’m afraid. A door opens up in my mind,

leading somewhere I don’t want to go. Firmly, I close it.

‘Mai, why don’t we go away somewhere, spend some

real time together?’ Nicholas suggests suddenly. ‘Just the

two of us, we can leave the girls with my parents or

Louise. The Lake District, maybe, or Paris, you’ve always

loved Paris. Or even Cornwall - we could go back to

Rock, I know it’s changed a bit since our honeymoon

days, but we could try to stay at the same cottage we

rented then, sit in front of the fire, just talk. Get to know

each other again. Couldn’t we?’

My eyes prickle. Maybe Nicholas isn’t ill, but he’s

certainly strained and tired. How long has he been overworked

like this, and I haven’t noticed? Too preoccupied

with the girls and recipes and book deadlines - and Trace.

I’ve barely noticed Nicholas’s comings and goings

this last month or two, I’ve been so caught up in the

distractions of my own life. Including fretting about a

relationship that was over thirteen years ago. If there’s

an unexpected distance between Nicholas mid me, isn’t

it as much my fault jih hiŤ?

ior

‘Let’s go home I whisper.

That night, after we make love with more tenderness

and sweetness than I can remember for a long time, after

he’s brought me to orgasm three times and fallen asleep

in the warm, tanned curve of my arms like a trusting

child, I stare up into the darkness and realize how incredibly

lucky I am to have this man. Trace may offer exciting

possibilities, but Nicholas gives me things that are real. The things that matter. Happiness, security, contentment, love.

I smile to myself. Even if he does forget that I don’t

have pierced ears.

208

Nicholas

There was an Australian girl, when I was barely nineteen.

It was Oxford’s long vacation; impecunious and newly

jilted by a girlfriend whose name I’ve long since forgotten,