Page 59 of The Price of Love
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Two-timing. Sounds rather picturesque really, doesn’t it? Makes me think of antique clocks, the ones with the seasons painted round the faces and the big keys to wind them, or an old music-hall dance done by girls in frilly crinolines with parasols. I couldn’t associate the phrase with Luke in any shape or form. Particularly now, sitting side-by-side on an overstuffed sofa in the Blue Monkey bar, polished little cocktails in front of us, poring over a menu and laughing (me, rather over heartily) at a group of drunken twentysomethings falling off their chairs at the table opposite.
‘So?’
‘Mmmm?’
‘Willow.’ He took the menu from my hands and laid it down on the sofa. ‘You’re hardly here at all, are you? Sure you’re okay?’
‘I’m fine.’
Howcouldhe be a liar? His behaviour was sonormal. ‘You wanted to talk? You said when you rang, something was bothering you?’
Yes, it had been less of a phone call and more of a controlled blurt, I’m afraid. I’d wanted to admit everything, acknowledge that I’d checked up on him, but couldn’t without bringing Cal and his team into things, and I couldn’t dothatbecause I’d promised Cal not to say anything. So I’d ended up saying that we needed to talk and leaving it at that. Trouble was, now I had to think of something to talkabout, without giving away my uncertainty.
‘I’m not sure that getting married would be such a good thing.’
His eyes didn’t even flicker. ‘If that’s how you feel, then sure. But, what brought this on? You seemed to be quite happy, last time we spoke.’
‘I . . . I don’t know. Cold feet, I suppose. Things being all right as they are.’
A long arm curled around me. ‘Whatever you want, that’s fine by me. Honestly, Willow.’ He showed no sign of being a man suddenly let off a hook or, conversely, a man suddenly disappointed.But then, if hehadmarried me, he’d have been entitled to half of everything.And he’d known, hadn’t he, somehow, that I’d dreamed of my wedding since I was thirteen. I half shook my head to lose the thoughts. Cal was right, I’d wanted a big wedding to show my family that I still deserved their ‘responsible’ label. . .
‘I . . . I wasn’t sure how you’d react. What with the flat and everything.’
‘Ah. The flat.’ The arm uncoiled and he picked up his drink, sipped it slowly through the corkscrew straw. I watched in hypnotised fascination as the blue liquid rose and fell through the roller coaster bends. ‘There’s a bit of a glitch with the flat. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to worry.’
Over the glass he was watching my face.He thinks I suspect something.‘Really?’ My heart was thumping. Two-time.
‘Yes. I’m really sorry. We’ve got the place, for a while, but someone else put in a higher bid. I kind of misled you. I know how much you loved it and I was kind of hoping that these other people would pull out, or the sale would fall through and we’d get it anyway, so I didn’t say anything.’ Another flash from those purple eyes, half-amused, assessing me, watching my reaction. ‘I didn’t want you to be disappointed.’
I felt relief just for a second. Then I swallowed it before it made me careless.Not just the flat. Everything else.He’s lied about everything else.‘Oh, I see. Never mind.’ Did I hate him? Love him? Why didn’t Iknow? And that little voice in the back of my head was whispering that if he was telling the truth now,why wasn’t he giving me back that sixteen thousand pound deposit and the five thousand I’d ‘paid’ towards the furniture?
‘Are yousureyou’re all right? You really do seem very off tonight.’
God, he was attractive. Almost as though he was trying extra hard, stone-washed jeans tight over firm thighs, blue shirt which echoed his eyes like the sea echoes the sky, hair curling onto his collar in the same fashion it had ten years ago, long, strong fingers closing around mine and the smell of a spicy cologne sharp in my nostrils. ‘It’s the flu. Still feeling a bit rocky.’ Couldn’t I just pretend? For a little while longer?
‘Of course.’ We chatted, generally, about Bree and the baby, my family, the weather, all safe, neutral topics which didn’t make my skin prick with anxiety. We ate, although my appetite was gone. (‘The flu, taking a terrible long time to shake off.’) And drove up to a nearby beauty spot to sit and watch the sun go down. Luke was all concern, didn’t press me to have sex, just carried on the gentle conversation. Asked if Flint had decided what to do about his allotment and how sad it was that, if he didn’t buy the land, his inheritance from Ganda would be wiped out, and had I heard any more about Ganda’s road-surfacing invention?
‘No. Maybe I ought to chase them up.’
‘Good idea. Look, let’s get the picnic rug out of the boot and sit on the grass. It’s a bit soulless, sitting in the car on an evening like this. Reminds me of all those holidaymakers.’
‘Yes. That sounds nice.’
‘You won’t get too cold? I’ve got a jacket in the back.’
‘I’m fine.’
‘I’ll get it anyway. Will you fetch the rug?’
He buzzed open the boot and I found the rug, neatly folded in the corner. Lying on top of it was Luke’s laptop, his inseparable companion. I looked at it and had the first faint glimmerings of an idea, one which might not work, or even be of any use, but it was an idea. Mine. My chance.
I did nothing for a while, lay on the rug next to Luke and relaxed as much as I could. It was, I had to admit, easy to relax with Luke. He was Mr Urbane, with his carefully general remarks about last night’s TV and the beauty of the view spread out before us like a visual episode ofThe Archers. He made no move to seduce me, apart from taking my hand and holding it while we lay, stroking my palm with his fingers in a way which, had I been feeling a little more sure of him, would have had me writhing in pleasure and begging him to use my body in any way he saw fit.
Finally the sun sank. It had, from my perspective, been taking its own sweet time about it. Night gradually closed down around us, the birds putting up the shutters, the heat draining from the air. I gave a rather over-the-top shiver.
‘Would you like my jacket now?’ Luke offered.
