Caroline Anderson - Once More, With Feeling

‘And it’s now September. How long can you fool him?’

She shrugged helplessly. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Nor do I,’ Emily told her, ‘but one thing I do know—it isn’t fair to Jane to use her like this. She must start sleeping in her own bed again, and I don’t mean with you. How you persuade your husband that you aren’t going to have intercourse is your problem, but if you want any help or counselling advice you can always go to Relate, the marriage guidance people. They’re very good. Perhaps you ought to try it.’

‘And what can they do?’ Ann asked heavily. ‘Make me fall back in love with Neil again? I doubt it.’

So did Emily, but there was nothing more she could do. There was clearly no fertility problem that exposure to the appropriate opportunity wouldn’t solve, and there was obviously no need for any further medical involvement. How Mrs Blake dealt with it from here was her own problem, and it was one Emily didn’t envy her one bit.

As she was leaving, she turned back to Emily. ‘Dr Thompson, this is confidential, isn’t it? I mean, whatever we’ve told each other in here won’t get back to Neil?’

‘No, of course not. Not without your permission.’

‘So he won’t ever know what went on in here today?’

As Emily confirmed that, it occurred to her that it was a strange way to phrase the question. After her surgery was over she went and sought David out.

‘Tricky one,’ he said. ‘I expect she intends to lie through her teeth to him.’

‘Oh, dear. Do you think he’ll come back for some answers?’

David shrugged. ‘Depends how convincing she is. Some women aren’t very convincing liars.’

He was looking at her oddly, as if he was referring to her, and she felt her heart thud uncomfortably. Not that she had lied—except by omission, to allow him to think that Jamie was hers.

Still, his eyes searched hers as he stood up and came slowly round the end of the desk.

‘I ought to tell you all about the man she’s having the affair with. Why don’t we do it over a drink on the way home?’

She had to physically stop herself from backing up against the wall to get away from him.

‘No! I mean—I’m tired, and it was Jamie’s first day at school. I ought to get back and see him and ask Mrs Bradley how he was when she picked him up.’

‘Mrs Bradley?’

‘Our housekeeper.’

David’s brows quirked slightly. ‘Housekeeper, eh? I thought you’d have an au pair.’

Emily shook her head. ‘No—it was a provision of Philip’s will that she have a home with us for life, and a living allowance. He left us all very well provided for, and Mrs Bradley’s just another example of his thoughtfulness. She’s been with his family for years, and Jamie knows her. It seemed very sensible, and to be honest I’m very grateful to her for all she does. I couldn’t do my job properly without her.’

‘No, I can see that,’ he said. He paused, those soft grey eyes searching her face until the need to run was paramount. And yet he wasn’t threatening—rather the reverse. His hand came up and brushed a stray lock of hair away from her face, and she quivered at his touch. ‘Poor Emily,’ he said softly. ‘It must be very hard for you. How does Jamie cope with his mother working when his father’s died so recently?’

She should have corrected him then, but she didn’t—another lost opportunity. Tonight, though, didn’t seem to be the time. Instead she focused on his words. ‘I haven’t worked since Philip became very ill near the end.’

‘Was it cancer?’

She nodded. ‘Yes—stomach cancer. For ages he thought he had an ulcer. By the time they realised it wasn’t, it was too late.’

‘But you didn’t pick it up?’

She shook her head. How could she have done? She wasn’t there; but David didn’t know that. She must find a time to tell him all that had happened, before he thought she was deceiving him. After all they had been through, she owed him honesty, even though Jamie made a useful smokescreen.

To think she had just finished telling Ann Blake that she couldn’t use her daughter to hide behind!

And Jamie, her son or not, needed her now. She might not be his mother, but she was the closest the poor child would ever get, and she fully intended to do her job well. ‘I must get home,’ she said now. ‘Jamie will be fretting.’

‘Of course.’

He seemed suddenly distant, and for a moment Emily felt a shocking sense of loss sweep through her.

Absurd.

Without giving herself time to think, she bade him goodnight and made her way out.

He was the last person she would want to see, David told himself disgustedly, but it didn’t stop him pulling up outside her cottage with a pot plant from the local garage and a bottle of plonk.

It was only a welcome to the area, after all, a simple gesture from an old friend.

And he might get to meet this child of hers, the child she had conceived not two years after their separation—before their divorce was final, even.

He fought down the bitter jealousy that surged in his veins, and concentrated instead on juggling the plant and bottle while he locked his car. Perhaps he should just go, he thought, take the stuff to the surgery in the morning and forget about invading her privacy—

‘Can I help you?’

A matronly woman stood in the open doorway, lit from behind by the welcoming glow that spilt from the cottage across the path to his feet. It didn’t quite reach him, and somehow stepping into the light suddenly assumed an almost mystical significance.

‘Is Emily at home?’ he asked, remaining where he was.

‘Who should I say it is?’ she responded, without inviting him in.

‘David—David Trevellyan.’

The door was immediately held wider, and a smile broke out on the woman’s face. ‘Come in, Dr Trevellyan. I’ll fetch her—she’s putting Jamie to bed.’

He stepped into the light, his heart easing even as he did so. ‘Could you find a home for these? Just a sort of house warming present.’

‘How kind.’ The warm hazel eyes twinkled like currants above plump cheeks that rose with her smile and squashed her eyes into merry slits. David found himself returning the smile and feeling grateful that Emily and her son had such a kindly soul caring for them.

‘Make yourself at home, Dr Trevellyan—I’ll just pop these in the kitchen and go and find Emily.’

He stood in the hallway while she bustled into the kitchen and then out again, hurrying up the stairs.

He heard a mumbled conversation overhead, then Emily appeared at the top of the stairs.

‘David?’

Was it his imagination, or did she sound breathless?

He tipped his head back and shielded his eyes from the overhead light. ‘Hi. I just wondered if you wanted to go out for that drink now—if Jamie’s settled.’

‘Oh.’ She looked flustered, her hands fluttering over her clothes. ‘I’m not really dressed for going out.’

‘That’s OK. The local isn’t smart; your jeans are fine.’

More than fine, if the tightening in his body was anything to go by.

‘Um—let me brush my hair and I’ll be down.’

He watched as she turned, the faded denim taut over the smooth curve of her bottom, and cursed softly under his breath.

He must be mad.

Emily felt sick with fright—or was it anticipation? Ridiculous. She brushed her hair until the roots protested, then dragged a scrape of colour over her lips and smudged them hastily together. That would do. It would have to.

Abandoning her brush, she ran down the stairs like an eager teenager.

‘Ready?’ he asked.

She nodded. ‘I just need my coat.’

He held it for her, his fingers brushing her neck as he lifted her hair away from the collar in a gesture she remembered so well. A little shiver ran over her skin and, forcing a smile, she turned to him.