Returning, opening the front door, she gazed expressionlessly at her visitor. ‘What do you want?’
‘To see you.’ Andrew glanced uneasily over her shoulder, in the direction of the sitting room. ‘What on earth was that? Sounds like a pack of werewolves.’
‘He’ll calm down in a minute. Why do you want to see me?’
Clearly unnerved by his close encounter with Jericho, and shivering as a blast of icy November wind ricocheted around the stone porch, he said, ‘Gina, can I come in?’
She led the way into the kitchen, wondering why on earth he had really come here and at the same time marvelling at her own self-control. This was her ex-husband - no, he was still her husband, the divorce hadn’t been finalised yet - and she had loved him for over fifteen years. Now, however, it was like coming face to face with a virtual stranger about whom she had heard unpleasant things, and the very idea that they had once been man and wife seemed almost ludicrous.
She guessed that he had come straight from the office; his grey suit was crumpled, his light brown hair uncombed. Realizing that her own hair was still tangled and wet from the shower, Gina marvelled at the fact that her hands remained comfortably in her dressing-gown pockets, and that she felt not the slightest urge to even attempt to make herself look more presentable. If Andrew had been the milkman she would have done so, but he wasn’t. He was only her husband . . .
‘Well?’ she said evenly, sitting down on one of the kitchen chairs.
Andrew took a deep, steadying breath. It wasn’t the most promising of welcomes, but he was here now, and he had been rehearsing for this moment all week. He was aware of the fact that he’d behaved badly, but that had all been part of some mystical mid-life crisis, something a lot of men went through, and like all crises it had passed. He now knew that this was where he belonged. And Gina was his wife; she would forgive him . . .
‘Darling, I realise how much I must have hurt you. I’ve behaved like a fool, but it’s all behind me now. It’s you I love, only you I’ve ever really loved.’ Damn, he hadn’t meant it to come out sounding like something from a Noël Coward play. The words, so carefully planned, seemed ridiculous now even to his own ears. Panicking slightly, Andrew took a step towards her. ‘No, don’t say anything. I’m trying to tell you that all I did was make a terrible mistake and I’m sorry. I don’t understand it myself. Marcy and Katerina didn’t mean anything to me, not like you! Oh darling, I want us to forget the past year. I want to love you and make you happy again, as happy as you were before . . .’
Gina gazed up at him, dumbfounded. The next moment before she had a chance to realise what was happening, Andrew had dropped to his knees beside her chair and pulled her into his arms, enveloping her in an embrace so ferocious she could scarcely breathe.
It would have been laughable if she hadn’t been too stunned - or too winded - to laugh. Having done his best to destroy not only her own happiness but that of Kat and Marcy as well - and those were only the ones she
knew
about - Andrew seriously seemed to think she still loved him enough to forgive and forget, and welcome him back to married life as if nothing had ever happened.
Meanwhile, he was still here, wrapping himself around her like Sellotape and frantically kissing her exposed shoulder.
Still inwardly marvelling at her ability to remain calm, Gina stole a quick glance at her watch - it was now twenty-five past seven - and murmured, ‘You don’t know how many times I dreamed of this moment. I prayed so hard that one day you’d come back to me . . . and now at last it’s happened. I can hardly believe it.’
‘Oh darling.’ Andrew, hugging her tighter still, covered her face with triumphant kisses. ‘I knew you’d understand. I love you so much.’
Drawing slowly, reluctantly away, trailing her slender fingers down his forearms and giving his hands a gentle squeeze, Gina whispered, ‘Do you want to make love to me? Now?’
Andrew quivered with lust. He hadn’t had sex for weeks. Wrenching off his tie and scattering shirt buttons across the kitchen floor, he gasped aloud as Gina’s fingers moved to his belt buckle and began to unfasten it.
‘Oh my God . . . yes, yes . . .’
She had him just where she wanted him. Gina had never felt more powerful in her life. Tilting her head in order to hide her smile, she reached behind her with her free hand and found the short, sharp, serrated knife with which she had planned to slice the tomatoes for the lasagne.
Andrew, opening his eyes with a start as cold metal made unexpected contact with warm flesh, gasped again. When he saw what Gina was holding he moaned aloud in horror.
‘That’s interesting,’ she said in almost conversational tones. ‘Your whole body’s gone rigid with fear. Well,
nearly
your whole body.’ Her smile broadened. ‘Of course a certain small part of it remains as disappointing as it ever was. Some things don’t change.’
‘G-Gina. For G-God’s sake . . .’
She could hear his teeth chattering. Idly turning the knife this way and that so that the blade glittered in the light, she glanced at her watch once more. Very nearly seven-thirty.
‘It’s a good job I’m not a raving lunatic, Andrew,’ she told him pleasantly. ‘Because a raving lunatic abandoned wife wouldn’t hesitate for a second. She’d cut off this troublesome little appendage quicker than you could say . . . well, knife. And many people might applaud her for doing so.’ She paused, then shook her head and tossed the knife into the sink out of harm’s way. Leaning back in her chair, she said in cheerful tones, ‘Luckily for you, I’m not a lunatic. And I wouldn’t want to go to prison . . . just imagine the field-day my respectable neighbours would have when they read about it in the papers. So you can put it away now’ - with a brief nod in the direction of the petrified acorn, she drew her dressing gown more securely around her and pulled the belt tight - ‘and leave. I’m sure you can find your own way out.’
When he had gone, Gina poured herself a large gin and tonic and made her way through to the sitting room to be sullenly greeted by Jericho, who was very put out at having been excluded from all the fun.
‘Cheer up, sweetheart,’ she consoled him, rubbing his ears and for once allowing him up on to the sofa beside her. ‘It was a pretty delicate situation, after all. And you might not have exercised as much self-control as I did.’
With a noisy woof of forgiveness, Jericho attempted to climb on to her lap. Gina waved the remote control at the television in the corner. ‘Now shut up and pay attention, Jericho.
Top of the Pops
is about to start, and your favourite singer’s on tonight. No,
not
Cilla Black . . .’
Unable to face slicing up those dear little cherry tomatoes, she had abandoned the idea of home-made lasagne and sent Doug out instead to pick up a takeaway from the new Mexican restaurant in Kensington High Street. Not until they had finished eating did she relate what had happened earlier.
‘Well, I think it’s marvellous,’ declared Doug, when she had told him everything. As his face creased into a smile of genuine admiration he wondered how he could ever have thought of her as ‘that skinny, nervy,
bossy
broad’. Over the months, Gina had metamorphosed into a calm, elegant woman who knew her own mind and no longer needed to live her life through the kind of men who treated her like dirt and didn’t even deserve her. Doug had never been married; he had never even been in love, but he was aware now of skating perilously close to the edge. He knew, too, that he would never treat Gina like dirt.
The chief fly in the ointment, of course, was the fact that he seemed unlikely to ever get the chance to treat her badly or otherwise, since she had shown no signs at all of even recognizing that he
was
a man, in that particular sense of the word.
‘I definitely scared him,’ she agreed now, with some satisfaction. ‘Oh Doug, you should have seen the expression on his face . . . I wish Kat and Izzy could have seen that expression . . . I still can’t believe I really did it!’
‘You can do anything you want to do.’ He was so proud of her. First Ralph, now Andrew. And her elation was contagious; raising his glass of Mexican beer he saluted her, wondering if he dared pluck up the courage to give her a brief, congratulatory kiss. It was what
he
wanted to do more than anything else in the world.
Gina nodded, still smiling to herself. ‘You’re right. Know what you want and just go for it. That’s Izzy’s motto and it’s worked wonders for her. From now on, I’m going to make sure it works for me.’
It was more than good advice, he thought as she lifted her own glass and clinked it rakishly against his. It was fate. He was here and Andrew wasn’t. They were friends, celebrating together, and Gina - in a crimson cashmere sweater and cream linen trousers - had never looked more desirable. He’d even, thankfully, decided against wearing the new burnt-orange shirt which would have clashed so horribly with her red top. It was fate, it
had
to be.
Quickly, seizing the fateful moment and deliberately not giving himself time to back down, he leaned across and aimed for her cheek. Miscalculating slightly, his mouth landed on her chin, just down and to the left of her lower lip. That wasn’t right; that was plain silly. Still clutching his beer he shifted position and felt his arm accidentally brush against the cashmere swell of her breast . . . oh God, her actual breast . . . before managing more by luck than judgement to locate her mouth . . .
Gina, astonished for the second time that evening and breathing in the somewhat overpowering scent of the aftershave she had given her boss for his birthday, tried hard not to flinch. Doug was simply pleased for her and proud of the way in which she had dealt with Andrew, she told herself, quelling the urge to dodge out of the way. Besides, it didn’t do to flinch at a kiss from a friend, no matter how clumsy and damp it might be.
Having patiently waited for it to end, however, and finding herself still waiting several seconds later, she placed a firm but gentle restraining hand against his shoulder and disentangled herself from his grasp. It was impossible to be annoyed with Doug; he was too inoffensive . . . too
kind
. . . but enough was enough.
‘Your drink,’ she said kindly, as yet more dampness - icy dampness, this time - invaded her lap. ‘Doug, I think you’re spilling it.’
So much for fate, thought Doug, passion deflating as he saw how unmoved she was. Was it ever even
remotely
like this for Anthony Hopkins?
‘I’m sorry,’ he mumbled, his face burning with shame. The moment of madness had passed; he supposed he should be grateful that at least he had escaped with his private parts intact. ‘I’m sorry, it was just—’
‘It’s nothing at all,’ Gina intercepted briskly, realizing that he was about to start apologizing all over again. With a bright smile, she jumped to her feet. ‘Really. These trousers are brilliant. Just chuck them in the washing-machine and they come out as good as new, every time.’
Chapter 46
Izzy, practically dead on her feet following eleven gruelling hours in a south London recording studio, took a while to get the gist of what her housekeeper was actually telling her when she returned home at seven in the evening. Lucille, sensing her confusion, poured her an enormous gin and tonic and splashed a couple of inches of Bushmills into a glass in order to keep Izzy company while she drank it.
‘He telephoned an hour ago,’ she repeated patiently, ‘and I told him you were out, but that you’d be back for sure by eight. Well y’see, he sounded such a charming gentleman and I could tell he was disappointed not to be speakin’ to you so I happened to mention that you hadn’t any plans for the rest of the evening, what with havin’ to catch that early flight of yours to Rome tomorrow mornin’, and then it occurred to me that maybe the good fellow might want to pop round and see you before you leave.’ Pausing momentarily for breath and an invigorating gulp of the Irish whiskey to which only a heathen would add ice, Lucille licked her lips in appreciation. ‘Well, he said that would suit him just fine so I told him to turn up at any time after eight-thirty so as to give you a little while to get yourself ready beforehand. Izzy, I’m tellin’ you, that man has a beautiful smilin’ voice . . . he all but broke my heart, just talkin’ to him . . . oh, and I told him not to eat first because he might as well share something here with you.’
The last of the Bushmills disappeared down her throat with a flourish. Izzy watched it go. Then she watched, helplessly, as Lucille rose to her feet and shrugged herself into a vast, banana-yellow cardigan which reached past her knees.