Каарон Уоррен - The Best Horror of the Year Volume Ten

“Would you care for some company?” She held up a hand, whose nails were as crimson as her mouth. “Please don’t be afraid to say no if you’d rather be alone with your thoughts. I won’t be offended.”

When Skelton glanced beyond the woman, he gained an immediate impression that the rest of the room’s occupants were hastily averting their eyes.

“Won’t you be dining with…?”

“My husband? No. He’s too ill to join us.” She sounded almost vehement.

In truth, Skelton would have liked to be left alone, though not because he didn’t find the woman attractive. In fact, he felt drawn to her, though the effect she had on him unsettled him, made him nervous, jittery even. However he felt trapped by her request. If he refused her he would be acutely aware of the two of them dining in isolation, and of the thrumming tension that that gulf would create between them.

And so, fixing a smile on his face and waving at the opposite chair, he said, “In that case… by all means…”

A heady, musky fragrance billowed from her as she sat down. Almost involuntarily Skelton felt his prick stiffening in his pants. Adjusting his position slightly, he cleared his throat. “Would you like some wine?”

Her eyes seemed to dance. “Only if you allow me to buy the second bottle.”

Again Skelton felt his smile was enforced rather than natural. He felt a muscle jerk involuntarily in his cheek as if pushed beyond its limits. “Perhaps one will be enough.”

“Perhaps.” Her own smile seemed to come easily. “But the night is young.”

Once she had ordered her food—smoked salmon for starter and pork medallions for main course—she asked, “How was your afternoon?”

It was clearly a loaded question, which she acknowledged by chuckling throatily. “Please feel free to tell me to mind my own business.”

He gulped wine and found that his answering smile was easier this time. “It was… interesting.”

“Good interesting or bad interesting?”

Reluctant thought he initially was to respond, he was surprised by how liberating he found it telling her what had occurred with Parr, and afterwards at the station. She was an attentive and sympathetic listener, and as he spoke, haltingly at first and then more easily as he lubricated his throat with wine (she matching him sip for sip), he felt his spine straightening, the stiffness in his neck and shoulders fading away.

“Poor you. What an ordeal,” she said when he had finished.

“So you believe I’m not an imposter then?”

Although they had only just finished their starters, they were already on their second bottle of wine and her eyes had become dewy. “Of course I do.”

“Why? You don’t know me from Adam.”

“I pride myself on being a good judge of character. You’re a good man, Marcus. A gentle man. I know it.”

He blushed. “I’m not sure my wife would agree.”

“Then she’s an idiot.”

He blinked in surprise, and immediately she looked contrite.

“I’m sorry, that was uncalled for.”

He felt as though he should be leaping to Janice’s defence, but as usual his response was half-hearted, almost apologetic. “She’s had a lot to put up with…”

“I’m sure you both have. It takes two to tango, as they say.”

He grunted non-commitally, then asked, “What about your husband? How long have the two of you been together?”

“It seems like forever.” Her laughter was brittle. “Sorry again. I shouldn’t be so mean. But illness does get wearing. On both partners.”

“What does he suffer from?”

She wafted a hand, as if to say, Who knows? “He’s wasting away, poor dear.” She snatched up the bottle and refilled both their glasses, which all but drained it. “One more with our main course?”

Again his response was half-hearted. “I don’t normally drink that much…”

“Me neither. But let’s push the boat out. We’re on holiday.”

When their pork medallions arrived—they had both ordered the same thing—the woman picked up the bottle and waggled it at the girl with the braces, who looked instantly alarmed. “Another one of these, dear.”

As the girl scuttled away, Skelton was struck by a sudden revelation.

“I’m sorry… I still don’t know your name.”

The woman pouted her plump lips. “Perhaps I’d prefer to maintain my air of mystery.” Then she rocked back in her chair with a laugh so shrill that heads turned. “Your face! I’m sorry, it’s mean of me to tease. My name’s Belinda.”

She reached across the table, offering a jokey handshake, which he accepted automatically. The touch of her skin on his sent pleasurable ripples through him. Her name seemed to ripple too, as if it was echoing out from the past. He felt fuzzy-edged memories becoming more solid, slotting into place. He stared at the woman, then averted his gaze when she met his eyes with her own. There was something in the look she gave him; something candid, knowing.

“Say what you’re thinking,” she said.

“I’m sorry?”

“I can see the cogs whirring away, but you’re keeping whatever you’re thinking bottled up inside. Why not just say it? I won’t be offended. And I’m fairly unshockable. In fact, my reaction might surprise you.”

He felt his face getting hot. He took a gulp of wine. What was she expecting him to say? He put down his glass a little too heavily. “I’m just… well, it sounds weird, but… we haven’t met before, have we? Before today, I mean?”

Her face was almost avid. “When were you thinking we had?”

“I don’t. That is… I’m probably mistaken. Have you been here before?”

“Not since I was a girl.”

His heart leaped. “How old were you?”

“I don’t remember. Twelve, thirteen… perhaps older. Why? Do you think we might have been teenage sweethearts?”

He reddened. He knew it was silly, but he couldn’t help feeling disappointed that she didn’t remember. He cut into his pork with a vigour he hoped would suggest that the thought was nothing but idle conjecture.

“I came here when I was fourteen. I met a girl who I think was called Belinda.”

“You think?”

“I’m pretty sure. She…” he glanced at her, then quickly away. She was staring at him again. The wine had stained her lips dark red. His voice dropped to a mumble. “She meant a lot to me at the time.”

He pushed meat into his mouth and chewed. For the next few seconds he pretended to remain preoccupied with the vegetables on his plate. There was silence from the woman. From Belinda. He wondered what she was thinking.

Finally she said softly, “Life is full of might-have-beens, isn’t it?”

By the time they had eaten dessert, finished their third bottle of wine, and washed it all down with a pot of coffee, the dining room was almost deserted. Even so, they left separately, at Skelton’s suggestion.

“We don’t want people to talk, do we?” he mumbled.

“Let them,” Belinda said, throwing a withering glance around the room. When she turned back her face immediately softened. “You’re very gallant, Marcus. A knight in shining armour.”

“I don’t know about that,” he said, blushing.

“You put yourself down too much. You know that?”

He shrugged.

“I’ll go first, shall I?” she said, standing up. Despite the amount of wine they had drunk she seemed remarkably sure-footed, which led Skelton to wonder, perhaps uncharitably, whether her husband’s illness had caused her to gravitate towards the bottle a little too often. She stepped around the table and leaned towards him. He looked up at her instinctively and she kissed him on the side of his closed mouth.

“Good night,” she murmured. “Thank you for a lovely evening.”