Isabel Wolff - Out of the Blue

‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘They were.’

‘And as for those cigarettes – well, so what? – why shouldn’t you have the occasional fag? It was so silly of me to over-react like that, Peter. I’ve trusted you for fifteen years, darling, and I’ve no intention of stopping now. I know you’ve never had an affair,’ I went on with a tipsy giggle, ‘and I don’t believe you would.’ He was silent. ‘Because I know you always tell the truth.’ I had a sip of wine. ‘Don’t you, darling? Because the simple fact is that you’re a very decent and honourable man. And you’re so truthful, too, in fact that’s what I love about you most and I just want to say how –’

‘Faith,’ said Peter suddenly. ‘Please stop. ’ He was fiddling with his knife and he had this peculiar expression on his face. ‘There’s something I want to tell you,’ he said.

‘Darling, whatever it is, it doesn’t matter.’

‘It does matter, Faith. It matters to me.’

‘Peter,’ I said, then took another large sip of Bordeaux, ‘whatever it is it’s not important tonight.’

‘It is,’ he corrected me. ‘It is. It’s very important, actually. Because you’re sitting here telling me what a great guy I am, and quite frankly I can’t stand it.’

‘Oh darling, I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I didn’t mean to embarrass you. It’s just that I’m feeling so happy and I’ve probably had a bit too much to drink, and I’m just trying to make it up to you for being such a suspicious cow.’

‘But that’s the whole point,’ he said. ‘That’s precisely what I can’t stand.’

‘Why?’

‘Faith,’ he said, fiddling with his glass, ‘I’ve done something rather … silly.’

‘You’ve done something silly?’ I echoed. ‘Oh Peter, I’m sure it’s nothing.’

‘It isn’t nothing,’ he said.

‘Really, Peter –’

‘No, darling, listen to me,’ he said as he locked his gaze in mine. I saw him breathe in. Then out. ‘Faith,’ he murmured. ‘I’ve been unfaithful.’ My wine-glass stopped in mid-air.

‘Sorry?’

‘No,’ he said, ‘ I’m sorry – because I’ve slept with someone else.’

‘Oh,’ I said, aware that my face was suddenly aflame.

‘But it was only once,’ he added, ‘and it doesn’t matter.’

‘Oh,’ I said again.

‘But the reason I’m telling you is because, well, we are about to enter a new era, yes, a new chapter; and I knew I just couldn’t live with myself unless I’d made a clean breast.’

‘Oh,’ I said again. For some reason it seemed to be the only word I knew.

‘You see, Faith,’ he went on as he stared at his uneaten chicken, ‘you’ve been going on at me all evening about how “honest” and “truthful” I am. So I can’t bear to conceal from you the fact that … ’

‘What?’

‘Well, that I’ve had this little … fling.’

‘A fling?’ I echoed. ‘With whom?’

‘Look,’ he said wearily, ‘that’s not important. It’s over now. It was a stupid mistake, and it’s not going to happen again.’

‘I’m sorry, darling,’ I said, struggling to remain composed. ‘But I don’t think it’s fair of you to tell me you’ve had a – fling, and then refuse to say who it was with, because … Oh God, Peter,’ I added, my throat suddenly constricting. ‘You’ve been unfaithful to me.’

‘Yes,’ he said, quietly, ‘I have. But it’s not important,’ he repeated. ‘I was put under pressure. I – I’d had a few drinks, it was just … one of those things.’

‘Please tell me who it was with?’ I said again, aware that my palms felt damp.

‘I –’

‘Please, Peter. I’d like to know.’

‘Well … ’

‘Just give me her name, will you?’

‘No.’

‘Go on, tell me!’

‘I can’t.’

‘Yes you can!’

‘Look, I –’

‘Give me her name, Peter.’

‘OK,’ he sighed. ‘It’s Andy Metzler.’ My hands flew up to my mouth.

‘You’ve had sex with a man ?!’ Peter was staring at me. He looked shocked.

‘No, it’s all right,’ he said. ‘You don’t understand.’

‘It’s not all right,’ I shot back. ‘It is absolutely NOT all right, Peter!’

‘Yes it is ,’ he insisted.

‘No, it damn well isn’t –’

‘Yes it is, Faith, because, you see – Andy’s a woman.’

‘ What? ’

‘Andy Metzler’s a woman,’ he repeated. I gasped.

‘You never told me that.’

‘You never asked.’

‘But you never said. It’s been “Andy this, and Andy that” – I had no idea he was a she. ’

‘Well,’ he said quietly, ‘she is. I agree it’s a funny sort of name for a woman. But she’s American, and, well, that’s what she’s called – it’s spelled A-N-D-I-E.’

‘I see,’ I said slowly. ‘Like Andie McDowell.’

‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘Like that.’

‘And you had an affair with her?’ He nodded. ‘When?’ He fiddled with the salt pot.

‘When, Peter?’

‘On Tuesday.’

‘On Tuesday? Yesterday? Oh yes, of course,’ I said, nodding my head. ‘You were going to take her for lunch at the Ritz. To celebrate. Well, it certainly sounds like you did.’

‘Look, one thing led to another,’ he said sheepishly. ‘She was coming on to me, Faith. She’s been coming on to me for months. Ever since she met me, in fact. And you were behaving so suspiciously, I was fed up and I felt so grateful to her for getting me the job that, somehow, I couldn’t … refuse.’

‘Oh, I see,’ I said sarcastically. ‘In order not to hurt her feelings, you slept with her. What a gent. I’m so proud of you, Peter. You took a room, I suppose?’

‘Yes,’ he said quietly. ‘We did.’ And suddenly, in that moment, in that terrible moment when he said ‘we’, I realised that truthfulness was Peter’s least endearing quality.

‘So she did get her bonus, then,’ I said darkly, aware of a lemon-sized lump in my throat. ‘How ironic,’ I murmured as I gripped and ungripped my napkin. ‘How very ironic. For the past two weeks I’ve been obsessing about some Scottish woman called Jean, who turns out to be a Frenchman called Jean ; and now you tell me you’ve had an affair with an American woman called Andie, who I was quite convinced was a bloke!’

‘Er … yes.’ I shook my head.

‘Well,’ I whispered bitterly. ‘Well, well, well.’ Then I looked at him and said, ‘This hurts.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you. But she pushed me into it.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ I said.

‘She did,’ he insisted wearily. ‘I’d made it quite clear that I was – married. But now our professional relationship was at an end and she just … ’

‘Decided to make it personal.’

‘Yes. Oh, I don’t know – she put me under all this … pressure. ’

‘I don’t believe you,’ I hissed. ‘I think you slept with her because you wanted to.’

‘No I did not.’

‘Liar!’

‘Keep your voice down.’

‘Admit it!’

‘OK, then, yes, I did! ’

‘You did!’

‘Yes. Since you’ve forced me to admit it, yes I bloody well did !’

‘You bastard! ’ I spat. And I was terribly shocked to hear myself say that, because I’ve never called him that in my life.

‘I’ve been under such stress, Faith,’ he groaned. He leaned his head on his right hand. ‘These last six months have been hell. And then you started going on at me. You wouldn’t leave me alone. You were like a terrier with a rat, banging on about this woman or that chewing gum or those cigarettes.’