Le Poiret was one of those expensive restaurants with a deceptively understated exterior in black and red. As soon as she went in, she could tell from the waiters and stiff tablecloths that this was the kind of place to which she and Derek would never go. On their last wedding anniversary they had gone to the new Italian round the corner that Harriet had recommended, and Derek had spent all evening ogling the prices. It was so nice, thought Pippa, as the waiter took her jacket, to have a treat.
Gus was already waiting for her at a table near the window and her heart leaped. ‘Hi, Gorgeous!’ He stood up to kiss her cheek. Then she tried to sit down but he was then kissing the other and their faces bumped. Embarrassing – but thrilling too.
Gus’s eyes swept approvingly over the blue dress. ‘You look amazing.’ He pulled out her chair (something else Derek rarely remembered). ‘Sit down and have a glass of bubbly.’
She eyed the expensive bottle in its silver wrapping.
‘Celebrating, are we?’
He reached across the table for her hand and grasped it firmly. Pippa felt a knot of fear form in her stomach. If Gus was trying this hard, he was worried too. ‘Only way to do it, darling. Now come on, Pip, what’s this all about? Tell me everything, from the beginning.’
He listened attentively until she had finished.
‘But why hadn’t Derek spotted it earlier?’
‘
Derek
spot it?’
Gus took her hand again. ‘Doesn’t he touch you? I once had a girlfriend who put me in charge of her monthly breast checks.’ He grinned. ‘In fact, they became far more regular than that.’
Pippa looked away.
‘Sorry, that was crass of me. But, seriously, I can’t understand why he didn’t notice.’
She took a gulp of champagne. ‘Because we’re not always that close . . .’
‘Are you kidding?’
‘I don’t mean we’ve stopped. It’s just that . . . Oh, I don’t know. We’re always tired, and when you have children it’s different.’
Gus sighed. ‘That old excuse. Well, if I was married to you, it wouldn’t matter how many kids we had. I’d be “close” to you, as you so sweetly put it, all the time.’
Pippa took another large sip to quell her nerves: the conversation was getting deeper than their usual light flirtation. ‘It’s difficult for him at work right now. And he has to go through an appraisal this Friday – everyone has to, no matter how long they’ve worked for the company. I’ve been helping him fill in this ridiculously complex form, stating what he contributes to the company in his view and where he feels he’s going.’ She stopped, aware that she was twittering on.
‘Work’s tough nowadays. How’s your business going?’
She loved the way he called it her business instead of her ‘freelance work’, as Derek referred to it. ‘Busy. I should be working now.’
‘Everyone needs time off to chill.’ Gus topped up her glass and handed her the menu. ‘Take a look, Pip, and then we can talk properly.’
She scanned it quickly, settling on salmon and salad. ‘Just what I’m having,’ said Gus. ‘Now, seriously, back to Derek. He’s probably telling you not to worry because he’s scared himself. It’s the kind of thing men do.’
‘Would you?’
He looked at her, his eyes locking with hers. ‘No. I’d tell you outright that I was scared stiff for you. But, then, I’m not like many other men.’ His eyes took on a dreamy look. ‘I sometimes feel I go through life thinking completely different things from other people.’
‘So do I!’ exclaimed Pippa. ‘Derek never sees things the way I do. He just doesn’t understand why I worry. Neither does Harriet.’
‘The friend you were with the other day when I rang?’
Pippa nodded. ‘She’s lovely, but she’s not like me. No one is.’
‘Except me.’ Gus was challenging her with his eyes.
‘Like you,’ said Pippa softly.
They both looked at each other without saying anything. Then, as Pippa was beginning to feel really heady with the champagne (she hardly ever drank in the middle of the day and even a few sips did this to her), their food arrived.
‘
Bon appétit
,’ said Gus.
Pippa smiled weakly.
‘Know what you’ve got to do?’
‘What? ‘Live a bit. None of us, even those without lumps, know what life has in store. And as long as we don’t hurt too many people it’s up to us to make the most of what it has to offer.’
Pippa ate a mouthful of salmon, then put down her knife and fork. ‘Gus, at university . . . do you ever wish – do you ever wonder what it would have been like if we had been, well, more than friends?’
There. She had said it.
Gus dotted his mouth with his napkin, his eyes fixed on hers. ‘Every now and then. But we did come near to it once, didn’t we?’
She was glad – and flattered – that he’d remembered. She would never forget that hot Sunday afternoon when they had been sitting on her bed, listening to James Taylor. She had been exhausted, having worked on an essay until the early hours of the morning and, more from familiarity than anything else, had laid her head on his shoulder. The window of her room had been open, allowing the breeze to waft through.
‘Isn’t this perfect?’ she had murmured.
His lips had come down on hers, totally – and wonderfully – unexpectedly. They were softer than she had imagined and she had done a lot of imagining. Within seconds, she found herself below him, her body arched up towards him, begging, pleading. She was going to melt. Evaporate. Die.
Then he had rolled away. ‘I’m not going to make love to you, Pip. You know that, don’t you?’
She hadn’t, but she had nodded dumbly. Then, overcome with shame and disappointment, she had got up from the bed and run to the bathroom at the end of the corridor. Her face, she saw in the mirror, was puce – she always went red when she was upset, scared or nervous. Now she was all three. Frantically, she had splashed water on it to cool it down. When she returned to her room, wondering if he had gone, she saw, to her relief and embarrassment, that he had put on another record and was sitting in the tattered easy chair in the corner.
He looked up with his usual friendly smile as though nothing had happened. ‘What do you think of this album? Not as good as the other, is it?’
They had never again referred to that moment. Now, as they sat in the restaurant, Pippa wanted to ask why he hadn’t made love to her when neither had been attached and they had obviously felt something for each other. Was it because, as Derek had unkindly insinuated over the years, Gus was gay? She had been certain he wasn’t but Derek’s comment had made her uncomfortable. Had he backed off because he just didn’t fancy her? Or – and this was the best of the three options – was it because he hadn’t wanted to ruin their friendship?
‘Gus?’
‘Another . . . Sorry!’
They had spoken at the same time, and laughed.
‘You first,’ he said.
No!
‘You.’
‘I was going to ask if you wanted another drink.’
Pippa covered her glass with her hand, wishing she’d painted her nails. ‘I daren’t. I feel quite light-headed already, actually, and I’m doing the school run. I shouldn’t really have had anything.’
Gus grinned. ‘Plenty of time for that to get soaked up, especially if we have one of those delicious puddings over there.’
Pippa looked at them longingly. ‘I’d better not.’
‘Why not?’ Gus touched her hand briefly. ‘I’ve told you before, Pippa, you’re gorgeous. Men don’t like skinny women. They want girls they can get hold of.’
Pippa felt her resolve melting and allowed the waiter to cut her a piece of pavlova with a peach slice on top.
‘Same for me, please,’ said Gus. ‘Now, what were you going to say to me?’
‘When?’
‘Just now, when we spoke at the same time.’
Pippa flushed. ‘I can’t remember.’
‘Liar!’ He grinned again.
‘Honestly.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Have it your way. At least you can, on one condition.’
Pippa forced herself to put down her fork, leaving half of the pavlova to prove she had some resistance to temptation. ‘What’s that?’
‘You come home with me and have some decent coffee.’
He lowered his voice. ‘The food in this place is divine but the coffee’s undrinkable. Besides, I want to show you some new curtains I’ve just bought.’
‘OK, but I can’t be too long. I’ve got to leave by three at the latest. It would be earlier but the girls have got netball tonight.’
‘Netball.’ Gus beckoned the waiter over. ‘I like a girl who plays netball. Did you?’
‘I did, actually. I was a goal shooter.’
‘You ought to play again.’
‘I should.’ Who was she kidding? She’d never play netball again if this lump was malignant.
‘Darling, don’t cry. Here, have this.’ He handed her the starched pink napkin. ‘It’s going to be all right. I can feel it in my bones.’ He was pushing his chair round the table so that he was next to her, his arm round her. Pippa leaned against him. It was comforting. Warm. Sexy.
She blew her nose on the napkin, hoping no one was looking. ‘It’s just the uncertainty. That’s what’s so awful.’
‘I can understand that. Come on. Let’s get out of this place and go back for that coffee.’
Gus’s car – a smooth silver Cadillac – was in the car park near hers. He brought it round and somehow she got in, teetering on the unfamiliar high heels.
‘Just lie back and close your eyes,’ said Gus, and slipped in a CD. ‘You’ll love this.’
The dulcet tones of James Taylor’s new album resonated through the car from the speakers at the back. Had that been intentional, wondered Pippa, as she allowed herself to drift off, or merely coincidence?
By the time she woke up they were almost there. Gus lived in a tall, beautiful white Georgian house in a part of Battersea that was on the up. No garden, but Gus had bought pots – of clipped yew, geraniums, fuchsias – and placed them at front and back, with variegated ivy by the shiny black front door. He pulled up and ran round to open the car door for her. Unused to such gallantry, Pippa got out awkwardly. He touched her shoulder and they walked to the door where he keyed in his security number. The door opened automatically.
‘Come on in. I’ll get the coffee on. The guest bathroom is on the first floor if you want to freshen up.’
He always thought of everything, mused Pippa, as she made her way up the elegant mahogany staircase to the loo. She could have stayed here for a fortnight: it had everything any woman could want, from big fluffy towels to Molton Brown soap and hand cream. She thought of the single bathroom at home, with the scraps of soap that were too paltry to use but not small enough to throw away, and the bath mat that was always wet because no one, apart from her, ever put it on a radiator to dry.
She brushed her hair in the mirror and reapplied her lipstick. That was better. She felt less light-headed from the champagne and as for the lump, she would shut it out of her mind and enjoy this time (their last?) with Gus.
Carefully, she picked her way across the beautiful black and white tiled hall, with its chandelier, into the kitchen.
‘You must smell this,’ instructed Gus, getting down a tin of coffee from the Shaker cupboard. He prised open the lid and Pippa inhaled the rich scent appreciatively. ‘A friend of mine gets it from Kenya. Fantastic stuff. You won’t taste anything better in London.’
It was impossible not to be infected by his enthusiasm. She could smell something else, too – something delicious coming from the gleaming stainless-steel cooker. Gus bent down to open a door and lifted a lid. ‘I’ve got some friends coming round tonight so I made this earlier. Pity you can’t stay.’
Pippa wished she could. The prospect of dinner with Gus, laughing and feeling irresponsible like she used to, was so much more inviting than tea with the children squabbling, then keeping Derek’s dinner hot when his train was late.
‘The kitchen looks beautiful,’ she said. ‘You’ve had this done since we were here last.’
She and Derek had come for supper about three years ago. It hadn’t been a success. Derek had been silent while she and Gus had fallen over themselves with laughter, stupid jokes and do-you-remembers. Derek, who had been seated next to one of Gus’s girlfriends, had appeared almost rude in his refusal to join in and she had told him so in the car on the way home.
‘They’re not my kind of people,’ he had said sullenly.
Pippa had been furious. ‘Well, I make an effort with your friends and colleagues. How about that boring office party I had to go to last year?’
Since then Gus hadn’t invited them back together. As if by unspoken mutual consent, he and Pippa met up for lunch when Derek was at the office.
‘I’d forgotten. You haven’t been here for ages. I’ve had lots done since then. Bring your drink. I’ll show you.’
She followed him along the corridor into another room with stained floorboards and an expensive-looking rug. ‘What do you think?’
Pippa gazed with awe at the Regency striped curtains. Very smart and very male. The furniture was beautiful too, including a walnut bookcase filled with leather-bound volumes in order of size. Gus had inherited an antiques business from an uncle. It had become so big that he had recently had to take on more staff, which freed him to travel round the country and abroad to source more stock. He was his own boss, like Pippa. Another reason why he understood her.