Other People's Husbands (30 page)

‘No. Yes. No, not a
thing
, as you put it. I just got a teensy bit infatuated for a very short while, that's all. Like a girly crush thing. It did seem to go both ways, though. Pathetic, isn't it?'

She could hardly expect him to say no it wasn't, she thought. She wouldn't be saying anything about it if she didn't also realize that Conrad had worked out exactly the truth of the situation. She wasn't confessing to anything that wasn't apparently blindingly obvious to both her husband and her mad sister.

‘God, I'm such a fool,' she sighed. ‘Don't take any notice of me, Will. I'll be back to my normal self soon.'

‘Are any of us our normal selves when we get a bit swept away?' He looked a little sad. ‘Don't imagine it's only you, darling. Bruno had a bit of a pash a couple of years back. Same sort of thing, a crush on someone he worked with. He thought it was mutual too, but it turned out the chap in question was about to get married and was playing out his last am I/aren't I gay thing before the big day. He decided he wasn't – I think it was left over from something he'd liked in boarding school. We got through it. I think it's all right, really. Some people, ones like you and Bruno, they only stray within the fences. If you didn't know you had something very secure at home, you wouldn't feel safe having a wander. It would be way too dangerous.'

Sara laughed. ‘Is that right? Most people would say that if everything was ticking over perfectly OK at home, you wouldn't ever go looking for anything else. But I wasn't looking, I really wasn't. Some things just come and bite you.'

She was pretty sure these were almost the exact words Marie had used about Angus. At the time, it hadn't even remotely crossed her mind that she'd ever be using the same ones herself. How much more would it have taken for her to have been back in that Selfridges lingerie department, checking out silk knickers, but for herself, this time? She liked to hope it really wouldn't have come to that. Now she wondered if she knew herself at all. A little flattering attention and she'd proved she was almost anybody's. Maybe it was her age, after all.

‘You might not think you were looking, but you know last time we went out you were very concerned about Conrad. You thought he was going loopy. No wonder you jumped at the first chance of a bit of comforting distraction. I know I laughed about it at the time, but I probably shouldn't have. Is he all right now?'

Sara thought for a moment. ‘ “All right” is probably close enough. When I've gone home and faced him with what's happened today, then we'll see. I'd so love to put the moment off. I'm teaching a bit later. I think I'll go and hang about in Richmond for a bit. See if Stuart fancies a pub lunch, maybe.'

‘Look, we're only round the corner from mine. Why don't you come and have a sandwich and then go straight to work after? That way you won't have to face him, or Stuart – because frankly you'll be no company for him – with this till you've recovered a bit.'

‘Thanks, Will. You are a love. You don't judge me and you . . .' Her voice was giving way here. He patted her hand in between changing gear and pulled the van up in his driveway in a cute road just off Kew Green.

‘Of course I don't judge you, Sara. It's the casting the first stone thing, isn't it? And besides, I'm a great believer in not saying “Ooh I'd
never
do that” about whatever it is, because sure as anything, the next minute you find yourself doing exactly the thing you swore you wouldn't! Come on, I've got some fabulous Brie and some weird stripy chichi tomatoes. They were massively expensive,
très
designer. You'll love them.'

Sara's phone rang while she was in the middle of telling Melissa that yes, any liquid would do for interpreting the theme of Water, but she really thought it would be a good idea to think about it more before deciding Coca-Cola was easier, simply because she had the right shade of brown on her palette.

‘No, I know water's colourless, but it does reflect,' Sara pointed out.

‘But I can't paint, like
nothing
? Can I?' Melissa had poured water into a glass and was staring at it. ‘I mean, it wouldn't be much of a picture, would it? It would just be whatever's around the actual water. I don't think it would work. Not unless I went out and painted the river or something, boats maybe, or perhaps someone's bird bath.'

‘You can't do a bird bath.
I'm
doing a bird bath,' Cherry chipped in crossly. She'd brought several blurry photos of her own garden water features, of which there were several, and she had passed these snaps round the class, telling them that her husband had been a keen admirer of
Ground Force
when it had featured Charlie Dimmock. He seemed to have added to their sixty-foot oblong patch just about every kind of fountain, bird table and spouting cherub that a garden centre could offer. Today, she had chosen to paint a grey fake-lead bowl with a dolphin leaping awkwardly, as if it had just realized it was going to land on something painful.

‘It doesn't mean no one else can paint a bird bath.' Pamela Mottram pointed her charcoal at Cherry. ‘It would be like saying that because Van Gogh painted a sunflower, that was it for everyone else. No flowers. You're just being greedy. You do what you like, Melissa. Take no notice of her.'

‘Actually, he did irises as well. And other plants. Fields and fields of them.' Peter the Pedant said. ‘Not that it matters. We're not on flowers this week. Unless you count the water in a vase. That might work. It could be nice and murky, Melissa, then you wouldn't be painting
nothing
, as you call it.'

She knew it would be Ben before she even looked at the caller display. There was always the option of simply switching off, but she'd only spend the rest of the day running through in her head all the possible things she could have said to him. She made a gesture to Pamela to indicate she'd be just a couple of minutes, and went into the corridor. It smelled of school out there, which seemed appropriate, as she was feeling very like a silly fourteen-year-old just now.

‘Ben. What can I do for you?' she said.

‘Sara! What happened? You ran out on Mindy! Why?'

‘
Why?
You ask why? Because I feel conned, Ben. I feel as if you were using me. Using the Blythe-Hamilton connection to launch your wife's gallery. Why didn't you say what you were up to?'

‘Because . . . well possibly because I thought you'd do exactly what you did. I promise you . . . truly, I didn't set out to trick you.'

‘Did you always know who my husband was?'

The short silence said it all. He didn't say ‘No' quite fast enough.

‘No. I didn't know for a while,' he finally said. ‘But . . .' his voice went low, seductive. ‘It was too late. I'd already fallen for you by then. And don't tell me you . . .'

‘I can't deny I've been a total idiot, but then you knew just how to appeal to my vanity, didn't you?' she said. ‘I should have known. I can't believe I was so naive. You're a journalist – all you had to do was google my name and it would come up as Conrad Blythe-Hamilton's wife. And what about your wife, Ben? Where does “divorce” figure with the possibility of having a baby with her?'

‘Now I never said I was
actually
divorced.' He sounded cool now, too cool.

‘No – that's true.' She thought back. He'd been quite careful with wording, hadn't he? ‘Look, I think it's goodbye, don't you?' she said. ‘I won't pretend it wasn't fun, being with you. I just feel a bit let down and it was all so unnecessary, you know. If you'd been straight with me from the off . . .'

‘If I'd been straight with you at all, we'd have missed some lovely moments,' he said softly.

She could feel tears threatening again. She mustn't let this happen, mustn't let him get to her. You couldn't stay friends with someone who used you like that, so it had to end on a bum note, not a good one.

‘Bye, Ben. And good luck with . . . well, everything. Enjoy Alma's cottage.' That was another thing; if only he didn't live so close . . .

‘Ah . . . it was only rented, Sara. That was something else that you'd assumed – I hadn't actually bought it. Caro and I are going back to Brighton.'

‘Right . . . well. Then goodbye.' She hung up. And went back into the classroom. Conversation, thankfully, was still buzzing. They were doing fine without her input. It was quite restful, Sara thought, having them argue among themselves like this. Restful in that she could mooch about in her own subdued thoughts, but also unexpectedly exciting. They were so very involved in all this, she realized. Very stimulated by it. They deserved someone teaching them whose attention hadn't been wandering in quite the way hers had. All their hard work, what was going to happen at the end of the term? Would they all just go their separate ways and forget about it? Pamela would go on to do a Life Class, possibly. She wouldn't drift away. Melissa might do basic pottery, might not come back at all. Some of the other older ones would go on to the Next Thing, cheerfully embracing anything from line dancing to basket weaving, anything to keep them feeling that they were active and involved. They needed, here, something to bring them together at the end, to give them a chance to show off what they'd achieved with her, but for themselves. If she couldn't have an exhibition, they could. She'd organize it – that was what the college entrance hall was for.

In the canteen at the break, Marie, leaning on an old ski pole for support, hobbled over to join Sara on their usual tatty sofa.

‘I know I'm not supposed to be doing more than lying on a sofa watching daytime TV, but I'd set them a murder scene to write for homework and I couldn't resist coming in to take the class. Mike gave me a lift in. You should see what they came up with! Talk about gory – there are now one or two I wouldn't go home on the bus with, that's for sure. And it's always the ones you least expect . . . Hey, you look a bit down,' she said. ‘Love's old dream getting to you? I hope you're still having fun because I'm not, well not with Angus, not any more. I've given up on adultery. I called him in the end, told him it was fun but. We knew where we stood. Or lay, in our case, tee hee. How could I have been such an idiot as to risk what I've got with Mike? He's been so brilliant since the foot thing. I'm going to treat him to my new underwear. I don't know why I didn't run it past him before, as it were.' She was very sparkly, very cheery. Sara wondered if she'd ever feel like that again.

‘Mine's over too. Bastard was conning me all the time.'

‘Oh. Well, frankly Sara, a certain amount of conning is always going to happen in Adultery World, isn't it? Someone's always going to be doing some cheating. You on Conrad, me on Mike. Angus on Mrs Angus. Doesn't it go with the territory? Mind you, although it's cheating, it doesn't have to be ill-natured.'

‘No, I was being
used
. I'll tell you about it sometime. Not now though, I've got an exhibition to organize. Not the one I told you about, one
here
. The art department is going to have an end-of-term show. I know they have before, but this is going to feature my very amateur lot.'

‘I'm sorry it didn't work out, the man thing. But then you've got lovely Conrad, who adores you. We're very lucky really, aren't we?'

‘True. Some might say almost to the point of smugness!' Sara laughed. ‘And it's taught me a couple of things. I'm not quite as unfanciable as I'd assumed, just because I'm a bit older than I was. That teenage-type buzz was lovely while it lasted. Just . . . horribly wearing and horrible for poor Conrad, because I can't kid myself he didn't realize. I haven't faced him yet . . .'

It was almost a repeat of the fairground day. After work, Sara left the college and there in the driveway once more was Ben's Audi. The music this time was Aerosmith. She'd told him she liked that. Hearing it as she approached, she felt irritated, as if he'd set a stage for something and was playing to a pathetic sentimentality that he assumed she had. She didn't want to see him, but it was going to be impossible to walk past the car and ignore him. He saw her and stepped out, into her path.

‘Ben, I've got nothing to say to you.'

‘Oh come on, Sara, please don't be like this. Let me give you a lift home? Or we could go for a drink by the river . . . like that first day?'

‘No, I don't think so, Ben. I don't really think we can be friends, do you? Let's just leave it.'

‘But don't you think you're being just a tad oversensitive here?' He was looking very sure of himself, very much as if he was the one doing her a huge favour that she'd be an idiot to pass up. It was more than a bit annoying; it bordered on completely infuriating.

‘Look – what is it you think we've got? A romance? No. I can't do that. I'm married. Happily married. Like you.'

One of his eyebrows went up, disbelieving. ‘Oh really? And how did your “happily married” thing come into play when we were rolling on the bed in Ikea?' He was too close to her. She wanted to push him.

‘I could ask you the same question,' she told him. ‘Now I'm going home and probably on the bus, thanks.' She moved to go past him but he grabbed her arm.

‘Let go of her. Sara? Shall I take you home?' Conrad's Mercedes pulled up alongside the Audi. Pamela Mottram, walking past with Peter the Pedant, stopped and commented, ‘Good heavens, Sara, you do have an exciting life, don't you?'

‘Conrad! Fantastic, let's get out of here!' Sara pushed past Ben, shoving him hard against his wing mirror. She hoped it had caught him in a very uncomfortable place. She climbed into the Mercedes and Conrad sped away from the college grounds.

‘Will came round,' Conrad said. ‘He brought your paintings back.'