Gemma Townley - When in Rome...

You’ve got to hand it to David. If we’re talking pros and cons, David’s got to be doing pretty well. He has brought food, and he is going to cook it himself, too.

I open the door and we go inside. David nearly knocks the curtain rail over.

“Must put that up,” he mutters as he walks into the kitchen. As he turns round to give me a kiss I notice a cut and a bruise on his cheek. He smiles sheepishly. “Got hit by a squash ball this morning,” he explains.

He opens a bottle of wine and pours me a large glass.

“Ooh, that’s lovely.”

“It isn’t Bulgarian, I’m afraid,” David grins, “but I believe that the French, too, produce a number of good wines.”

He turns round and starts unloading the shopping bags. Spaghetti, minced beef, tinned tomatoes, garlic, onions, basil, and oregano. I love the fact that David knows that I never have any food in my flat. He used to ask me things like “Where do you keep the sun-dried tomatoes” or “You don’t happen to have any capers, do you?” but now he always brings everything he needs when he’s cooking and I just watch in admiration as he turns ingredients into proper food without even using a ready-made sauce.

“The trick to a really good spag Bol is to leave it bubbling for a while,” David tells me as he starts to chop the onions. I sit down and slug wine as the kitchen warms up and David, wearing my floral Liberty apron, browns the beef. We are the picture of domestic bliss. I try to picture Mike doing the same thing, and can’t. Mike would never spend an evening in like this. He used to prowl around like a caged animal waiting for the phone to ring whenever we didn’t have plans. If it didn’t ring by eight, he’d make a couple of calls and get us onto some guest list or other. Life indoors didn’t count to Mike. Am I really contemplating going to the city of romance with him?

David hums as he cooks and every so often he turns round and winks at me. I get a huge pang of guilt about Rome. How could I do that to David? He’s so much nicer than Mike. I’m going to cancel. Definitely. Although if he was really serious about me, wouldn’t he have taken me to Rome himself? Suddenly my eyes, which have been staring into the middle distance, focus on David’s shirt. There’s a small rip on the shoulder, and it looks like he’s been cut.

“David, is that blood on your shoulder?”

I get up to inspect it more closely.

“Oh, that. Hmmm. Yes, yes it is.”

As I approach him he turns round to kiss me, deflecting my attempts to look more closely at the rip.

“David, let me see!”

“It’s nothing, darling. Look, I’ve just had a run-in with a couple of idiots. Should have been more careful.”

“What sort of idiots?” I persist. “Were you mugged?”

“Not exactly. Look, it’s nothing—just a risk that comes with the job,” David says, turning away.

“With the job? David, you’re an accountant, not a bouncer.”

“Of course I am. As I said, it’s really nothing.”

I’m cross now. I hate it when David avoids my questions.

“Tell me,” I say firmly and pull him away from the stove. David leans down and kisses my forehead.

“Darling, when you’re investigating fraud, you very occasionally encounter this sort of thing.

People who get involved in fraud can often be involved in a whole host of unsavory activities alongside it. And they generally don’t like the idea of being found out. So every once in a while I get some lunatic thinking that sending in the heavies, or sending me a bribe, is going to get me off their case. Which it doesn’t.”

He kisses me again and turns back to the spaghetti.

“So, what did you buy?”

I stare at David vacantly. Buy? What’s he talking about? And who dared to send the heavies round to David? Why hasn’t he mentioned it before?

“Today with Candy. Shopping,” continues David. “Don’t tell me you didn’t get anything?”

“Oh, right. Um, no I didn’t actually. We talked mostly. Didn’t get round to going in any shops.”

“Oh, that’s right.”

“What?”

“What?” David turns round.

“What you just said—’oh that’s right’—as if you knew or something. Have you seen Candy?”

David slugs back some wine and turns back again. “What? No, course not. I just remembered that you were going to have a catch-up. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“A couple of years actually.” If I didn’t know David better, I’d think he was hiding something from me. Something other than the fact that he’s regularly threatened by horrible criminals, that is. Shuddering at the thought of anyone trying to attack David I lean my forehead against his back.

“How about you?” I murmur. “What have you been up to today apart from getting into fights with gangsters?”

“Oh, just a bit of work,” says David absentmindedly.

“Again? David, this is ridiculous. You’re working all the time. Can’t you put your foot down?” I put my arms around him protectively. I can’t believe his firm. They expect him to work constantly and don’t even give him a bodyguard.

David smiles. “Darling, it’s me that’s making all the work. There are people in my team whose wives and husbands will be cursing my name right now. But when you’ve got an assignment, there’s nothing else for it.”

David always talks about people’s wives and husbands rather than girlfriends and boyfriends.

And about a year ago he said something about wanting a family. So naturally I thought it was only a matter of time before he proposed. Every time we went out for a meal, I prepared myself for him getting down on one knee and saying he wanted to be with me forever. Each time I bought a new dress or pair of shoes I’d wonder if I’d be wearing them when we got engaged. But he never asked. For a while I was a bit upset. I started thinking that David didn’t see me as wife material. Plus he never asked me to even move in with him. But I’m fine about it now. I mean, when you think about it, what’s so great about being married? Why should I want some stupid piece of paper that legally binds us? Why should I care if David doesn’t really want to commit to me? It’s fine the way things are. We’re very happy.

Although that should register on the SWOT analysis, shouldn’t it? If Mike is in love with me enough to want to marry me, that should count toward him, shouldn’t it? And if David isn’t serious enough about me to want to spend the rest of his life with me, then I should maybecontemplate going to Rome with Mike, shouldn’t I? I mean, a girl’s got to keep her options open, hasn’t she?

Feeling bad about thinking about going to Rome with Mike while David is cooking for me, I quickly try to focus on something else.

“So is it interesting, what you’re doing?”

“Interesting?” David puts a lid on the saucepan and sits down at the kitchen table, looking serious. “Yes. Enjoyable? No. Actually, right now it’s pretty bloody awful.”

I stare at him. It’s not like David to talk about his work like this.

“David, is everything all right?”

“Of course it is.” He gives my hand a squeeze. “But I’m afraid I’m going to be away next weekend. I’ve got to go to Geneva on Thursday and I’m probably not going to be back till Monday.”

“Next weekend?”

It’s as if fate wants me to go to Rome. As if I’mmeant to go.

“Yes. It’s a bugger, but I need to go. Are you going to be okay?”

“Of course I am,” I say brightly. “David, I am a grown-up, you know.”

“I know. I just enjoy our weekends together, that’s all. I like waking up with you on Sundays . . .” He’s kissing my hand.

“Uh huh, and what else do you like?”