Penny Vincenzi - The Best Of Times

Her tone was brisk, almost abrasive; it annoyed him.

“I didn’t say the household was miserable; I said I was.”

“But, Alex, if they have an ounce of sensitivity, they must know that. And it should worry them. I just think if they care about you and their mother they’ll see it’s for the best. And deal with it.”

“I don’t think you can know many teenagers,” he said. “And I don’t think you really know what you’re talking about. That’s a very simplistic view.”

She stared at him, and flushed suddenly; it was endearing, the first sign he had seen of any crack in her self-confidence.

“Sorry,” she said.

He was silent; he felt depressed and defensive, a shadow over the evening. The silence grew.

Then, “I’m sorry, Alex,” she said suddenly, surprising him, “if I upset you. And of course I don’t know what I’m talking about.” She smiled at him rather awkwardly. “I’m just terribly bossy. I can’t help it. Well, I suppose I could, if I really tried, but by the time I realise I’m doing it, it’s too late. I’ll stop now. I just… well, I just didn’t like the idea of you being unhappy all the time.”

“That’s very kind of you,” he said, “but I think I know how to look after myself.”

He could hear himself, pompous, a bit stiff.

“Right,” she said, clearly edgy herself, “how about some coffee? And brandy?”

“That’d be very nice,” he said. He didn’t really want it, but to have turned that away as well as her apology would have seemed very aggressive.

She disappeared, and he leafed rather nervously through a coffee table book on art deco in the cinema. This might have been a mistake. The whole thing might have been a mistake.

“Well,” she said on her return, “let’s start again. What shall we talk about; what would be safe? You choose a subject.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Why?”

“Well to be honest,” he said, “I’m still a bit nervous of boring you.”

“Boring me! Why? I find you not remotely boring; I promise you that.”

“I’ll try to believe you. I mean… you do lead this rather glamorous life. In theatres and so on. And I spend mine…”

“Yes. How do you spend yours; what do you do? Day by day, I mean? Tell me.”

“Oh, staring into people’s orifices. Patching them up. Not the orifices, the people. Dealing with overdoses, cardiac arrests, stab wounds, even the occasional death on site, so to speak. I mean, I love it and it’s fascinating, but it can hardly compete with first nights and talent spotting, can it?”

“Alex, I spend about ten per cent of my time at first nights. The rest is hard graft, talking to a load of rather pretentious people, trying to persuade them mediocre actors are wonderful and wonderful ones are worth hiring. And nannying actors, nursing their egos, making sure they get to auditions, listening to them whining, sorting out their money.”

“Bit like being a parent.”

“Possibly. But… I think I might prefer the orifices.”

“You wouldn’t,” he said, and laughed. “Believe me. Not very nice things, orifices. Well, not the ones who land up in Casualty.”

“Tell me,” she said, “do you really get people coming in with golf balls up their bums, things like that?”

“’Fraid so. And people get up to the most extraordinary things with vacuum cleaner hoses.”

“You’re kidding! Now, that really is sad.”

She leant forward to top up his brandy; he found himself studying her cleavage. She noticed and grinned at him.

“Sorry,” he said.

“Don’t be. I don’t mind. I’d wear polo necks if I did.”

“Promise me,” he said, laughing, “you’ll never come out with me wearing a polo neck. That would make me very sad indeed.”

“It’s a promise.”

“Well, that is… if you do come out with me again. I hope I’m not being presumptuous.”

“Oh, Alex,” she said, and her voice was impatient, “of course you’re not being presumptuous. You shouldn’t put yourself down so much. You’re a very attractive, sexy man. Get used to the idea. If you ask me out, I’ll come. There you are; that’s another promise. Oh, God. I’m being bossy again, aren’t I? What about your wife, is she bossy?”

“Not… not exactly. She just does what she wants. But… lots of wives do that.”

“Do they? I wouldn’t know. Most of my friends aren’t wives, you see.”

No, he thought, they wouldn’t be. You don’t move in a married world; you don’t know about marriage. Not really.

“So… lots of fights?”

“Not really. I don’t fight.”

She looked at him thoughtfully. “I’m surprised. I’d have thought you’d be rather good in a fight. You’re quite… quite powerful, aren’t you? Emotionally.”

“Linda, you hardly know me.”

“I realise that. But… I can rather see you roaring and raging away.”

“I think you’re letting your imagination run away with you,” he said, edgy again. “I don’t do much roaring and raging. Not at home, anyway.”

“Ah. How about work? From what I could see that day in the hospital, you were quite… fierce. I bet you’re one of those terrible men who takes everything out on their colleagues.” She smiled at him, lay back on the cushions. “Am I right?”

“That’s a dreadful thing to say,” he said. He didn’t smile back.

“Oh, Alex, I was only joking. Look, this conversation’s going nowhere. Let’s go to bed, shall we?”

“Fine.” He stood up. And then added, “Maybe I should try to get a cab after all.”

“That really is ridiculous,” she said. “Why, for God’s sake?”

“Because I don’t seem to feel very comfortable here.”

“Oh, please,” she said. “You should stop being so sorry for yourself, Alex. It’s very dangerous. You’re not the only person who’s had a bad marriage; other people go through it and out the other side. Even other people with kids.”

He stared at her, suddenly angry. “I don’t think you’re exactly an expert on the subject,” he said. “By your own admission, you haven’t done too well yourself.”

“Oh, do shut up,” she said wearily. “Good night, Alex. There’s a towel on your bed. And a spare toothbrush on the chest of drawers. The bathroom’s down the corridor. Just… let yourself out quietly in the morning, will you?”

It was the reference to the toothbrush that did it. He suddenly felt rather stricken at his rudeness, and thought that whatever else, she had been very generous, not to mention thoughtful. Not many people kept spare toothbrushes for unexpected guests.

“I’m… sorry,” he said stiffly, “if I was rude. You’ve been very… very hospitable. I shall be glad of the toothbrush. Thank you. Good night.”

He turned away, and heard the unmistakable sound of a giggle.

“That was the most ridiculous little speech,” she said, “but thank you for it. I’m glad you think I’m hospitable, at least. I seem to have one virtue.”

Alex turned; she was shaking with silent laughter, biting her lip, her lovely face alive as she looked at him.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “if I’ve hurt your feelings. I truly didn’t mean to. It was… well, it was seeing you doing your Heathcliff number. All brooding and wounded.”

“I was not doing a number,” he said. And then he grinned back, albeit reluctantly.

“Yes, you were. You are Heathcliff. To the life. Don’t look so cross. Heathcliff was very sexy as well as brooding. Come on, let’s go to bed friends, shall we?” She walked over to him, lifted her face to his, reached up, and kissed him-very lightly on the mouth. But it was enough.

Five minutes later they were in her bed.