Isabel Wolff - Out of the Blue

‘ Jean? ’ Peter repeated. ‘Yes, Jean and I have been working on a deal. It was a really boring instant book about some minor French film star which Charmaine fobbed off on me. We were going to publish it simultaneously in Britain and France, so I’ve been talking to him quite a lot. But it’s so tedious, Faith, and I’ve been so preoccupied, I kept forgetting to phone him back. Oh hello, is that Clare?’ he said. ‘Clare, look, it’s Peter here … ’

‘Nothing?’ said Lily when I phoned to report. She sounded vaguely affronted. ‘Darling – are you quite sure?’

‘Yes,’ I said happily. ‘I’m sure.’

‘Nothing?’ she said again. ‘Zero?’

‘Not a thing,’ I confirmed.

‘Oh,’ she said. ‘I see. So it was a case of trail and error.’

‘Yes,’ I said with a giggle. ‘It was. And I’m sorry about your article, Lily … ’

‘Well, yes … ’ She sounded a little depressed.

‘But the simple fact of the matter is that Peter hasn’t strayed.’

‘Mmm.’

‘I can’t believe I could have been so stupid,’ I went on. ‘I mean, why did I automatically assume that Jean was a woman?’

‘Because you’re still Faith Value,’ she sighed.

‘I know. Instead of thinking rationally, or doing a little lateral thinking, I became totally paranoid and insecure. I didn’t just jump to conclusions, Lily, I leaped to them with a pole-vault!’

‘Oh well,’ she added philosophically, ‘we can still interview you as a woman whose suspicions were proven groundless.’

‘So it’s not a complete waste of time and money?’

‘No, though obviously it would have been much better – I mean, better copy, obviously – if he’d been up to no good.’

‘Well, I’m glad he wasn’t,’ I said with a laugh. ‘Oh Lily, thank you so much for paying for it,’ I added. ‘And you did me a double favour there, because now my trust in Peter is even greater than it was before!’

There was a sudden silence, broken only by the sound of Jennifer’s background grunting, and then I heard Lily say, ‘Faith, I’m so pleased it’s all worked out like this. And you know the last thing I’d want is to rain on your parade, but … ’

‘But what?’

‘There are still some unanswered questions.’

‘Are there?’ I said. ‘Like what?’

‘Well, those flowers,’ she said. ‘Were they really for that author?’

‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I’m sure they were.’

‘And what about the chewing gum and cigarettes?’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ I said airily. ‘To be honest I don’t really care. I’m sure there’s some perfectly innocent explanation, just as there was with Jean.’

‘Well, the only thing I’d say,’ she went on, ‘is that not many British people smoke Lucky Strike. In fact that’s an American brand.’

‘Then they must have been for Andy, his head hunter.’

‘Of course they must. But then why didn’t he say so out-right? Look, Faith, would you do me one favour, darling? This is purely for the article, of course.’

‘Yes. OK. If I can.’

‘Would you just ask Peter about those other things?’ I sighed. ‘Just to tie up those annoying little loose ends?’

‘Oh, OK,’ I said slightly reluctantly. ‘Now that I feel so confident in Peter, I will. But I won’t do it until Wednesday.’

‘Why? What’s happening then?’

‘I’m taking him out to dinner,’ I explained. ‘A very special dinner, actually. I’ve just booked a table at Le Caprice!’

‘I say, that’s a bit rash!’

‘I know, but Peter deserves it after all the stresses of the last few months. And because I was so mean and suspicious and nasty I’m going to foot the bill myself. In any case,’ I went on, ‘we’ve got so much to celebrate. His new job. Our future … ’

‘And what else?’

‘It’s Valentine’s Day!’

On the evening of February the fourteenth I took the Underground to Green Park. London was in love, and so was I. On every platform I spotted young men sheepishly clutching flowers. And I thought of the two dozen red roses that I’d received from Peter earlier in the day. I gasped when I saw them – they’re so beautiful. Long-stemmed, velvet-petalled and with a delicious, heady scent. As I walked down Piccadilly, I had to weave through all the couples strolling arm in arm. The early evening air seemed to throb with romance as I passed the Ritz, and despite the fact that I’ve been married for so long, my heart was thumping as I turned down Arlington Street and saw Le Caprice. I’d been here once, with Peter, years ago, but I knew it was his favourite place. I glanced round the monochrome interior and saw that Peter was already at the table, having his usual gin and tonic. He stood up to greet me, and I was just thinking that he looked very smart, but also slightly subdued in a funny sort of way, when his mobile phone rang out. Or rather it didn’t ring, it played ‘For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow’, because that’s what it does.

‘I guess that’s Andy,’ I said as Peter fumbled to turn it off. ‘And let me say,’ I added with a laugh, ‘that Andy is a jolly good fellow!’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Peter with a faint smile. ‘That’s right.’

‘He must be thrilled about what he’s pulled off for you,’ I said as we perused the menu. ‘I hope he gets a whopping great bonus for all his hard work.’

‘Yes. Yes. Definitely,’ Peter said with a funny little laugh. ‘Oh, by the way my appointment’s in Publishing News. ’ He showed me a copy of the magazine and there, on page three, Peter was profiled with a photo under the headline: ‘Peter Smith’s Smart Move to Bishopsgate’. I read it through with tremendous pride: respected publishing director … very distinguished list … rumoured conflicts with Charmaine Duval … Bishopsgate set to expand. We ordered champagne – real champagne this time – and then our starters arrived. I had Bang Bang chicken, and Peter had creamed fennel soup. The restaurant was full of couples like us having a romantic Valentine’s dinner, tête à tête. I was feeling quite mellow and calm, although, as I say, I couldn’t help noticing that Peter seemed a little bit quiet. But I knew why – he’d just had his last day at Fenton & Friend, which must have been an enormous wrench.

‘Did they give you a good send off?’ I asked.

‘I had a small gathering in my office,’ he said. ‘Iris cried. I felt quite cut up, too.’

‘Well, it’s a huge change, darling – especially after so long. But like most changes it’s going to be for the best. What a hellish time you’ve had,’ I added as the waiter removed our plates. ‘And Peter, I just want to apologise again for being so mean and low. I just don’t know what got into me.’ He squeezed my hand.

‘Faith, don’t worry. That’s in the past.’

‘Anyway,’ I said as I raised my glass, ‘here’s to happy endings.’

‘Yes. To happy endings,’ he agreed. ‘And to new beginnings, too.’

‘To a new chapter,’ I went on happily. ‘With no nasty twists in the tale.’

‘I’ll drink to that.’

‘Even the weather’s improved,’ I added with a laugh. ‘The anti-cyclonic gloom has lifted and there are blue skies ahead.’ Peter smiled. ‘And did you take Andy to the Ritz?’ I enquired as our main course arrived – swordfish for me and breast of chicken for him.

‘Er … yes,’ he replied. ‘I did. We went there on, um, Tuesday.’

‘Well,’ I said as I picked up my knife and fork, ‘personally I think Andy’s just fab. ’ We chatted away like this as we ate, and at last Peter began to relax. I glanced at the black-and-white photo on the wall beside us and realised that it was Marianne Faithfull. And somehow that made me remember Lily’s request. I didn’t want to ask Peter directly, so I just said, ‘Darling, I’m so sorry I ever doubted you. It was horrid of me. Obviously those flowers were for Clare Barry.’ He looked at me. ‘Weren’t they?’