Catherine Alliott: A Rural Affair

‘Poppy, I’ve made a terrible mess of my life so far,’ he said softly, and all at once I knew. There didn’t have to be another wife. One was enough. Hope was at the bottom of this. ‘I got married very young, fell madly in love, and it all went badly wrong. I got very hurt.’

I nodded. ‘You’re still in love with her.’

‘Oh, no.’ He looked astonished. ‘I’m in love with you.’

More breath left my body. I’d be completely deflated soon, in the less than usual sense. And I itched to go to him. ‘Sam,’ I ventured, ‘must we sit here like this? Discuss … things like this, as if we’re in a board meeting?’ My eyes darted to his armchair in the corner. Not exactly a couch, which as we knew was the perk of the senior partner; and cluttered with papers, sure, but I could clear it very quickly. With one sweep of the hand, in fact.

‘Yes, of course we must,’ he said, quite briskly. Sternly, even. ‘Hear me out, Poppy.’

I nodded. Weird. Thrilling. Lovely, in fact. But weird.

He glanced at his blotter, then up at me, this time with an abrupt, defensive air. ‘Hope had an affair about ten months or so into our marriage. I found out and was devastated, naturally, but I reasoned that she was very young. And she was so sorry, assuring me it would never happen again, so I forgave her. Then less than a year later, she had another affair. With someone else. He lived next door.’

‘Good grief.’ I was fascinated in spite of my own inner turmoil.

‘So I left her. Knew it was hopeless. That’s when she hooked up with Chad.’

‘While you were married?’

‘No, no, we were divorced by then. Chad wouldn’t do that to me.’

‘Did he know about the other men?’

‘Yes, I’d obviously confided in him at the time. He was my best friend. Is my best friend. He knew everything. God, I’ve sobbed on his shoulder often enough. But men are wired differently, Poppy. We have astounding arrogance when it comes to women. Think we can be the one to make a difference, make them change.’

‘Not just men.’ I thought of Phil. How I too had hoped for change.

‘And Hope is … mesmerizing. Very beautiful, very charming, very captivating. If she sets her cap at you, if you’re under her spell … well, I was lucky. I was captivated for quite some time, but I got away. Chad has not been so fortunate.’

‘She’s having an affair with Pete the farrier,’ I told him, as it suddenly dawned on me. ‘I saw them together, in his jeep in the field.’

‘Yes, she is. I saw them too. It’s been going on a while.’

Which was why Angie’s advances had been rejected, it occurred to me: Pete already had somewhere to go after shoeing the horses of the village. And of course he and Hope had met at the book club. I remembered Hope appreciating his looks.

‘Does Chad know?’

‘I’m sure he suspects. But I haven’t told him. I did tell Hope I might, though, if she doesn’t watch out. If she doesn’t mend her ways.’

My mind flew back to Sam standing in his great hall by the window at the dance; Hope blushing at the floor, looking up at him through her lashes. No doubt agreeing she’d try.

‘She’s amoral, Poppy, so fat chance. Some people just are. A lot of men, but a surprising number of women too. And I mind very much for Chad. I got out, but I don’t think Chad ever will. And Hope hates that I’ve escaped. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that’s why they’re here, but a bit of me thinks Hope brought him to England, to this area, knowing I was bound to come back. She’d like us to be in an eternal triangle for ever, killing everyone softly. But I’m not playing that game. I have to see her because I love my friend dearly, but I despise her now. And that took a long time. For a while I couldn’t stop loving her. Was very hurt.’

I swallowed. Felt very brown-coated suddenly. Very unmesmerizing.

‘Why are you telling me this?’

‘Because this is the first time I’ve felt anything again. When you first burst into this room, Poppy, with your baby son in your arms, struggling up the stairs with your pushchair, I felt something stir. Something inside me relax and unwind, and each time I see you, it’s with the same gathering excitement, the same surge of pleasure, and each time you go, I wonder when I’m going to see you again. You, with your sweet smile and your slightly chaotic way of tumbling through life.’

This was more like me to be sure, and although astonished, frankly I was ready to vault the desk. I sized it up. Only four feet, surely, and I’d done long jump at school. I held myself together, though.

‘You had no idea?’ he asked.

‘None!’

‘Too busy letting that organ-grinder chappie sniff around,’ he said bitterly.

‘Luke! How d’you know about him?’

‘Oh … I know pretty much everything about you, Poppy, that’s my tragedy. My affliction.’ He massaged his brow, in despair almost.

I gaped, astounded. ‘But – you’ve given me no indication, no suggestion!’ I finally found my voice.

‘I sent you tickets.’

‘What tickets?’

‘To the ball.’

‘You did?’

‘Yes, I put them through your door.’

‘But … I thought that was Mark! Why didn’t you say?’

‘How could I say? Don’t you see how impossible that would be?’

‘And – and when I tried to suggest things, mentioned the book club –’

‘The book club!’ He spread his hands desperately. ‘How could I come to the frigging book club?’

I stared. My head whirred. ‘What d’you mean?’

‘You’re my client, Poppy,’ he said patiently. ‘There’s a professional code of conduct. I could be struck off. I know everything about you.’

‘Well, within reason.’

‘I know how rich you are.’

It came as a bit of a shock. ‘Yes,’ I said after a bit. ‘Yes, you do, I suppose. But –’

‘And everyone knows my house is falling down, is badly in need of a huge cash injection. Not that I’m sure I necessarily want it now,’ he said brusquely. Defensively, even. ‘I might sell it, so as not to be tied. I might go away.’ He got up from his chair and went to the window, hands thrust in his pockets, his back to me. My heart began to race.

‘Go away?’ I echoed.

‘For a while. Paint, perhaps. Do something different. Not be squire of this parish. Master of Foxhounds. Following in my father’s inimitable footsteps. Italy, maybe. I’m told the light is wonderful.’

‘I didn’t know you could paint.’

He turned. Smiled. ‘I didn’t know you could sing.’ I blushed. ‘Rather well, actually. Don’t know why I bothered with a band.’

‘It’s a family failing,’ I told him, getting up from my chair. No, I would not sit like this. Would not be still. ‘We sing in our cups.’

‘I shall look forward to that.’

‘So … there is something to look forward to?’ I crept across the room tentatively. His eyes held me and he moved too, but slowly; we seemed drawn imperceptibly together as if by an invisible thread. He stalled a moment.

‘You’d have to fire me, of course.’

‘Of course,’ I agreed, halting too.

‘And there’s still the money.’

‘I don’t want the money.’

‘You’re stuck with it.’

‘I could give it away?’

‘You could. I thought of that.’

He did? ‘To charity,’ I said wildly. ‘Save the Children?’

‘Well, no, your own children. In trust, until they’re older.’

‘Oh, yes! How tremendous. And – and Italy. Well, of course I’m hopeless at languages but I do love the sun. And pasta and –’

‘No,’ he smiled, ‘it doesn’t have to be Italy. Could be Wigan for all I care. Could be here, if you really love it.’