Gemma Townley - When in Rome...

She’d get me off before I started crying in case I smeared whatever she was wearing.

“Georgie, you wouldn’t understand. I love Mike. I always have. We were meant to be getting together that night you met him—I had the bloody dinner party so I could seduce him. You stole him, and I just took him back, that’s all. And now we’re going to get married and we’re going to be really happy. I just . . . I just don’t know where he is right now . . .” Candy starts sobbing down the phone.

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” I’m playing for time. I’m not ready to decide how I feel about all this yet.

“David said not to. He didn’t want you to be upset. He’s never really forgiven Mike for what he did to you, and when he found out I was pregnant, he got really funny. Kept asking if it was definitely Mike’s and stuff. Anyway, he made me promise not to tell you until he’d spoken to you himself. But I thought you might be . . . I thought Mike might be having an affair with you.”

So Davidknew ? Was he trying to protect me, or was he just pissed off because his plans for Mike would now affect Candy, too? I try desperately to organize my thoughts. So, Mike ran off with Candy. Well, that doesn’t sound like the “fling” he told me about. He also told me that he left me because I was too successful and he wanted to prove himself. And I’m supposed to think that Candy, with her great job and flat in Notting Hill isless successful than me? Less intimidating? The total and utter lying bastard. It was all a complete load of bollocks to convince me to help him out. And I fell for it. I actually believed him.

“Candy, I’m sure Mike isn’t having an affair,” I manage to say eventually. “Why don’t you talk to him later?”

“That’s the point. I don’t know if there’s going to be a later. I’ve been looking through his wardrobe and half his clothes are gone.”

Gone?

“Are you at his flat now?” There’s a pause.

“His flat? He doesn’t have a flat. He lives with me.”

“But what about his flat in St. John’s Wood?”

“Georgie, what are you talking about,” says Candy, sounding exasperated. “Why would Mike have a flat in St. John’s Wood? He lives in my flat in Notting Hill.”

Why would he indeed? Something tells me not to press the point on the flat. If Candy doesn’t know about it, there’s probably a good reason for it. And I’m not sure Candy is in any state to find out about it from me.

“Sorry Candy, I thought he said something about having a flat. I must have made a mistake.

Look, I’m sure everything’s fine. Why would Mike have an affair?”

“I know, you’re right,” says Candy, her voice still breaking up every so often. “It’s just that he’s out all the time at the moment, and today there was a message on our phone confirming his flight to Malaga tomorrow, and he hasn’t said anything about us going on holiday. And anyway, he’s meant to be coming down to Hampshire this weekend to see Mummy and Daddy. To talk about the wedding and stuff. And Daddy keeps asking me about his stupid business and about his money and . . .” she breaks into sobs again.

“His money?”

“His investments. He’s one of the investors in Mike’s company.”

Of course he is. All Mike’s talk about how difficult it was to raise the money. How could I have believed that he’d be capable of getting investment on his own?

Much as I hate Candy for lying to me, I can’t help feeling sorry for her. And to be honest, I’m almost relieved that she and Mike are together. It means that our little trip to Rome is unlikely ever to get out—Mike would have too much to lose.

“Candy, I’m sure it’s a business trip, or they’ve got the dates wrong or something. Look, everything will be fine.” I want to end this conversation now. I can’t take in any more information, can’t issue any more platitudes.

“Georgie?”

“Yes?”

“You promise nothing happened between you and Mike?”

I pause. I could tell her that Mike was all over me like a rash, that her scheming to get him off me in the first place has backfired. But it wouldn’t make either of us feel much better.

“God no, nothing. We met for a couple of drinks, that’s all. Actually, we didn’t have much to say to each other.”

“Thanks.”

“Okay, look, I’ve got to go now. I’ll talk to you soon, okay?” I hang up, take the phone off the hook, and lie back down on the sofa. Poor stupid Candy. And poor stupid me.

I want to speak to David. I want some reassuring words about how everything is going to be fine. I want him to tell me about the whole Mike fiasco so we can laugh about it and put it behind us. I want to bury my head in his shoulder.

I dial his office number and he picks up immediately.

“David Bradley.”

“Hi darling, it’s me. Still at work at this time?”

“Oh, Georgie, hi.” He sounds strained.

“Why didn’t you tell me about Mike and Candy?”

David sighs audibly. “How did you find out?”

“Candy just told me. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”

“I thought you’d be upset,” he says in a low voice. “I didn’t think you were still in touch with Candy, so I thought it didn’t matter.”

“Did you know that Candy’s father invested in Mike’s company?” As I say the words I realize how stupid I’m being; of course David will know. He probably knows everything about Mike’s company.

“He’s not the only one. Mike convinced half of our old schoolmasters to invest their pensions in his stupid company,” he says bitterly. “Look, I’m sorry Georgie, but I’m going to have to call you back, okay?”

“Okay, but I still can’t believe you didn’t tell me about Candy and M—”

“Georgie,” David interrupts. “I’m in the middle of something here.” His voice sounds strangled.

“I’m sorry, I’ve got to go. Look, I need to talk to you, but not now. Can you meet me for lunch tomorrow? Langhan’s at one?”

I agree and he puts the phone down. David sounded terrible.

Usually he’s so calm and collected. I wonder what could have got him so rattled. He has never spoken so sharply to me; it’s as if he’s cross with me or something. Which is silly—I mean, why would he be? Unless . . . oh God, he must have just found out about me and Mike. Why else would he be so short with me? He probably thought it was a complete coincidence that I was in Rome when he was, and now Mike must have told him after all. Probably because I sent the disk instead of taking it round. My heart pounding, I turn on the television, scan a few channels, and then turn it off again. I need to concentrate. I pour myself a large glass of wine and try to focus.

Somehow I’ve got to figure out what to say to David before oneP.M. tomorrow to make everything okay again. But how can I explain away a trip to Rome? How can I admit I’ve been lying to him?

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The menu is in front of David, but his eyes are darting around unable to focus on any one thing.

I take his hand. I look around the packed West End restaurant, which is full of men in pin-striped suits talking loudly.

“Is everything okay?”

David looks at me, distracted. I am waiting for him to tell me that he knows all about Rome, all about my flirtation with Mike. I am waiting for him to ask why, so that I can answer and tell him how stupid I was and that I’ll never do it again, ever.

But instead we’re just sitting here in silence, his eyes darting around the room like he thinks he’s being followed or something. I want to reassure him, but what can I say?