Page 34 of A Midlife Marriage

‘It’s five o’clock somewhere,’ she joked. And a few minutes later as he handed her a glass of champagne, deliberately letting the back of his hand brush the back of her hand, she felt the explosion of desire in her stomach. ‘Cheers.’ She lifted her glass to her lips. One drink. That’s all.

‘Cheers.’ He had raised his own glass, and was looking at her over the rim, his eyes drilling through flesh, easy as a knife through butter. ‘You look beautiful,’ he said.

As she struggled to hold his eye, her hands tightened around the stem of her glass. No-one had ever said that to her before. Not once.

‘I’m hoping.’ He smiled. ‘That you don’t have a train this time.’

Returning the smile, she leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs. She had changed into a sleek summer wrap-over, a dress that showed her legs, that, sitting like this, rose high above her knees. She sipped her champagne and watched his eyes travel up her thighs, her stomach squeezing as she imagined his hands doing the same. Her whole body tingled with excitement, with the awareness of a power that was as extraordinary as it was novel. Often, standing upright, suited and buttoned, she’d been aware of the power she held over men. But that was cold, hard-earned and hard-edged; a power that came from being better prepared, and confident of the win. A power that stayed tame, confined as it was to the office or the boardroom. Nothing like this, nothing at all.

She felt as if she had stepped through the looking glass. A newly discovered land in which she was queen indeed, with knights like Spencer Cooper in the palm of her hand. And with his Rolex watch and his tailored shirt, Spencer Cooper was a knight of such calibre that Caroline Hardcastle of Artillery Terrace, would never have dared throw her handkerchief at. The decision was hers. She held all the cards.

Ah, but I’m afraid I do have a train to catch,she could say, allowing his disappointment to pool at her feet.

‘Not this time,’ was what she said. ‘No train this time.’

The second drinkthey took up in Spencer’s room.

The third drinkSpencer poured wearing a white towel around his waist, his hair wet from the shower. His waistline held the shape of a rubber-ring, his back was covered with moles and, as Caro put her glass down on the bedside table and poured herself a tumbler of water instead, her arms were molten lead. What had she done? Underneath his amour, Spencer Cooper was a pale and heavy man. A phrase, she was thinking as she pulled the sheets around her knees, that could have described the sex. Pale, heavy and disappointing.

‘Shall I order typical something else?’ Spencer said, nodding at her untouched champagne.

‘No.’ She shook her head, watching as he took clean underwear from a drawer and went into the bathroom. Above her head an air-conditioning unit hummed, and across the room she could see herself in the large wall mirror, naked and small, adrift in an ocean of white sheets. She wanted to grab her clothing and run away, but she couldn’t move. She felt dull to the point of inertia. And where would she run to anyway? Where could she go that would rid her of the sight of his pale and hairy bottom, take away the weight of guilt filling every pore.

Besides, Spencer was acting as if there was nothing to run from. He was up, opening another bottle from the fridge, showering, as if this was something he was wholly accustomed to. As if he were only tidying up before the cleaners came. The water in her mouth doubled in volume, became such a lump she had to put her hand to her throat to help it down. Spencer, sheunderstood, wasn’t acting. Thiswassomething he was wholly accustomed to, and there had been no pretence. A rush of selfish desire had taken them from the bar to his room, to bed, where two middle-aged people had had pale and heavy sex. He hadn’t put his arms around her and pulled her close. He hadn’t stroked the small of her back, he hadn’t pushed her hair behind her ear or looked into her eyes or kissed her neck. They had fucked. And after, he had got up and asked her if he should order something else, because he was the type of man who had the means to be able to order something else.

The bathroom door opened. ‘Are you going to shower?’ he said, pulling a shirt on.

Tumbler in hand, Caro looked up. He wasn’t a knight, and she had never been a queen.

‘It’s just …’ That smile came back, the manipulative self-awareness of a man, pulling a woman’s strings. ‘It’s just that I have an appointment at six.’

In other words, it’s time for you to leave. In other words, I hold the cards now. In other words, … in other words …. She didn’t get to the end of the thought. Scooping the sheet around her body she stood up and took the first step into fifteen blurred minutes of excruciation. A brief episode in which parts of her mind were utterly scrambled and other parts ordered with precision.

‘We could share a taxi?’he said, as she stood dressed by the door.

This was all she would ever be able to remember, whenever she tried to touch upon a scar of time that never managed to heal, one kaleidoscopic moment.

Numb, she shook her head. ‘I really have to get going.’

Spencer put his hand on her shoulder and gave her a chaste kiss on the cheek. ‘That was fun,’ he said. ‘Look me up if you change your mind? I’ll take you for cocktails at One World. Show you the view of my town.’

‘Change my mind?’ Confusion swept through Caro like a flood. Had she mis-read the situation?

‘Matt told me you were leaving the city?’ He smiled.

‘Of course,’ she managed. And turning to go, she stopped. ‘Did he also tell you why I was leaving?’

‘Yes.’ Spencer nodded. ‘Yes, he did.’

‘And you still sent me that text?’

‘Which you answered,’ he said.

PART II

24

If you wait long enough.

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