Sign of the Times (21 page)

“Gaby? Are you OK?”

Standing outside the bathroom door, he could hear retching.

“Gaby, open the door.”

“I’m fine,” said an obviously not fine Gaby.

“Have you been sick?”

Silence, then, “Yes.”

“Oh shit, do you think it was the prawns?”
 
Oscar dreaded to think that his fine idea of putting things right with his wife, had ended up giving her food poisoning.

Oscar put Gaby to bed.
 
She looked green.
 
He brought her some water and propped up her pillows.

“Just you relax. Do you feel up to reading?”

“I think I’ll go to sleep.
 
I’m sorry I spoiled such a lovely evening.
 
Thanks for making the effort.”

“No problem. Just you rest.”

Chapter Thirty

Where did the time go, Oscar wondered?
 
It was weeks since he and Gaby had spent some proper time together. It had been all meetings, viewings, and yet more meetings about meetings.
 
He was so sick of it. More and more he wanted to start out on his own.
 
Maybe he’d run it past Gaby tonight.
 
The clock showed seven o’clock.
 
He really must get going.
 
He’d go home now and see if Gaby was still up.
 
She’d been in bed so early the last few weeks.

“Gaby!” Oscar called. Surely she wasn’t in bed already, it was only seven thirty.
 
No note.
 
Strange.
 
He checked throughout the house, but couldn’t find any sign of her.
 
Where was she?
 
Anyway, now he was home, he’d have a cup of tea and forage in the fridge, see if there was anything he felt like eating.
 
He idly flicked through the TV channels, until he came to Top Gear. That’ll do, he thought, as he ventured into the kitchen, to see what delights the Smeg held.
 
The answer was nothing much. He’d certainly had no time to shop recently.
 
Maybe he could make scrambled eggs, if the eggs were still in date.
 
He wasn’t sure he was hungry enough to find out.
 
There were a couple of wrinkled tomatoes holding the fort in the vegetable tray.
 
Finding a lump of cheese, he decided to have cheese on toast.

He was just popping the bread into the toaster
,
when he was startled by a pounding on the front door. What the hell?
 
Bang, bang, bang.
 
Bang, bang, bang, it went a second time, before he made it to the door.
 
Bang…Oscar threw the door open
.

“What the bloody hell….?” he stopped in his tracks.
 
A woman stood before him, her hair wild, her face swollen and tear-stained with mascara running in rivulets down her cheeks.
 
She managed to get out the words, “Are you Oscar?”

“Yes, I’m Oscar. Who are you?”

“I’m Angela.”

“OK, what can I do for you?”

“I’m Kieran’s wife.”

“Who’s Kieran?” Oscar was beginning to feel a mixture of annoyance and confusion.

“Kieran’s the father of your wife’s baby,” Angela blurted out.

“The what?
 
My wife doesn’t have a baby.”

“Not yet she doesn’t.”

Oscar decided that absurd though this conversation was, he didn’t want anyone overhearing the craziness coming out of this woman’s mouth, so he invited her in.

“You’re soaked. I’ll get you a towel.”

“Thanks,” Angela mumbled.

“OK, let’s calm things down a bit,” Oscar said.
 
“You’ve obviously got the wrong end of the stick.
 
My wife’s not pregnant and she’s not seeing anyone else.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yes,” Oscar was adamant

“So, where is she now?”

“I-I don’t know,” admitted Oscar.
 
“I just got in from work.”

“So you don’t think it’s possible that she’s with my husband?”

“Absolutely not. Why would you think that?”

“Because your wife and my husband have been sleeping together for months.”

“It’s not possible.
 
We don’t have any problems.”

“That doesn’t always matter,” Angela said wryly. “Believe me, I thought we had the perfect marriage, until Kieran started crying tonight, told me he’s leaving me and that he’s got someone else pregnant.”

“But where does my wife fit into all this?”

“Gaby, isn’t it? How would I have known your name was Oscar?”

“I don’t know. Any number of ways I suppose,” Oscar said, although he was fast realising that would have meant a whole lot of coincidences and he didn’t really believe anything that was too far-fetched.

“OK, tell me from the beginning so we can iron out this misunderstanding.”

“There is no misunderstanding,” Angela howled in despair, “your wife has been shagging my husband and now she’s pregnant.”

“There must be some mistake.”

“Does this look familiar?” Angela dropped something into his upturned palm.
  
Oscar couldn’t believe it. It was one of the gold teardrop earrings he had bought Gaby for their anniversary.
 
There must be some explanation.

“My husband and your wife have been having an affair and neither of us knew.
 
Can you believe that?”
 
Oscar was fast beginning to wake up to the severity of Angela’s accusations.
 

“And what’s worse is I’ve always wanted kids and he never did and now I’m never going to have them,” Angela started crying, gut-wrenching sobs from deep inside.
 
Oscar knew how she felt.
 
He felt as if someone had delved right inside his soul and ripped it out. His wife had been unfaithful to him.
 
His Gaby.
Not
his Gaby.
 
Someone else’s mistress.
 
Not only had she been unfaithful to him, she was going to have someone else’s baby.
 
Oscar knew how Angela felt, because he was in the same position.
 
He had always wanted kids and because of Gaby’s career, there had been no real hope of that any time soon.
 
Now
she was going to bear someone else’s child.
 
He started piecing things together.
 
That’s why she wasn’t drinking.
 
Now he came to think of it, he hadn’t seen her touch alcohol in weeks.
 
Maybe that’s why she was always in bed so early.
 
That’s why she’d been locked in the ensuite that day, vomiting.
 
She had morning sickness!
 
Oh my God.
 
It was true.
 
It all made sense.

He stood up abruptly. “I need a drink. Want one?”

Angela stopped crying long enough to say, “Yes please.”

Oscar returned with two large glasses of malt.
 

“I was keeping this for a special occasion, perhaps the wetting of my first born’s head, but it doesn’t look like that’s going to happen now. I suppose this
is
a special occasion, just not the sort I’d hoped for.”

He looked at Angela, who was drying her eyes and held up his glass.
 
She looked at him uncomprehendingly to start with and then the ghost of a smile escaped her lips. “Cheers,” and they clinked glasses.

Over the next half hour, Angela told Oscar the whole sorry tale.
 
Kieran had packed his bags earlier that evening. Oscar wanted to know if he and Gaby planned to run away together.
 
His wife hadn’t returned home, her mobile was off and his wife’s lover’s wife had turned up on his doorstep.
 
Angela didn’t know.
 
Kieran hadn’t clarified if he and Gaby were going to make a go of it.
 
She still loved him, she told Oscar drunkenly, after the third large
Glenfiddich.
 
Oscar asked her if she would take him back.

“In a heartbeat,” she said, then promptly burst into tears again.
 
“I’m pathetic I know, but I love him.”

“But how could you trust him again?
 
I love Gaby, but I can’t forgive what she’s done.
 
She’s going to have his child!
 
They’ve taken from us what we’ve always wanted – a family.
 
And the worst of it is, they probably don’t care or even realise the damage they’ve done.
 
It’s not just the being unfaithful; it’s the loss of our being able to be parents any time soon.
 
Even imagining we do meet Mr and Mrs Right in a few years time, we’ll be in our forties. How old are you?
 
Sorry I shouldn’t assume.”

“Thirty six.”

“See. During the time it takes you to meet someone else, the old clock will have been ticking away and of course you need to find someone who actually
wants
kids, live with them a while, see if that works out, then buy a house, decide if you’re compatible and then eventually figure out if you can have kids together.”

“Not always. Look at those two.”

“True. Selfish bastards.”

As the clock hands spun, Angela looked mournfully at her empty glass.
   
“I think we’ve run out of whisky.”

“Never mind. I think we have some vodka somewhere.”

“Don’t put much tonic in it.”

They sat, rehashing the good times and the bad, the latter being the occasions when they now realised their other halves had probably been together.
 

“I just don’t understand.
 
If they weren’t happy, why not tell us and make a clean break,” Oscar sighed.

“Oh that’ll be Kieran’s fault.
 
It’s a man thing.
 
They never commit to leaving someone, until they’re certain the new one is the right one.
 
It’s an unwritten rule.
 
Men don’t want to be on their own, no matter how much they might sometimes think they do.”
 
Her words were slurred and her half full glass was swishing around, a few droplets landing on the carpet.
 

“Really?” Oscar mulled this over.
 
“I hadn’t realised we did that.”

“Oh yes, anyone can see.
 
I’ve seen it happen to so many of my friends,” her lip trembled, a lump forming at the back of her throat, “and now it has happened to me.”
 
She burst into noisy sobs again.
 
The tears ran unchecked down her cheeks.
 
Eventually she tried to wipe them away.
 
She continued to howl, like an injured animal.
 
Oscar didn’t know what to do. He wasn’t used to being in this situation.
 
He felt uncomfortable, but then, when she didn’t stop, he patted her back.
 
As soon as he made contact with her, Angela completely broke down again, releasing all her frustration.
 
It seemed the most natural thing in the world to put his other arm around her back, as she cried on his shoulder.
 
They sat there like that for a few minutes, whilst Angela unloaded all of her grief.
 
Oscar sat there holding her.
 
Eventually, her sobs stopped and she looked up at Oscar and shot him a small smile of gratitude.
 
Later, he would ask himself what had possessed him, but she looked so small, so vulnerable and so pathetic, it just seemed the right thing to do, to help heal another soul.
 
He kissed her.
 
Shocked, he drew back. Angela’s eyes were wide, looking up at him, searching for a reaction in his.
 
Still unsure as to what it all meant she moved towards him, too fuelled by alcohol to care.
 
She kissed Oscar, but this time they didn’t draw apart.
 
Their kisses deepened.
 
Their breath grew ragged.
 
They panted, perhaps with the enormity of what they were about to do.
 
Oscar’s hands slid underneath her blouse.
 
Angela shuddered.
 
She stroked him, feeling the contours of his back.
 
They tumbled to the floor and then they were pulling frantically at each other’s clothes, as if their lives depended upon it.
 

They had sex fast and furiously on the shag pile. How appropriate Oscar thought. They sat up and Angela, shy now, tried to cover herself with her top.
  
Oscar thought this was adorable.
 
They shuffled together and Oscar let her lean her head on his shoulder, whilst they relaxed.
 
They sat in silence for a few minutes.
 
Then Angela said, “What do you…?” she froze.
 
A car door had just slammed outside.

Chapter Thirty One

Lucy - GEMINI

Quick-witted, changeable, talkative and versatile, sometimes crafty and mischievous.
   
Highly developed intellects and place greater value on learning than emotional or practical issues.
 
They get bored easily and quickly want to move on to the next challenge
and can often seem shallow or fickle
.

“
Oh bugger, bugger, bugger,
” Lucy ranted.
 
She was just stepping into her ice blue Audi TT, when she snagged her stockings on the sill.
 
She didn’t have time to go back upstairs and change.
 
At five feet nine, she cut a striking figure, with her natural blonde, almost white, poker-straight hair, which made her look like she should be strutting her stuff on the catwalk.
 

Different from her sister, Holly, in virtually every way; blonde to Holly’s dark, tall where Holly was small and their personalities were disparate too.
 
It was amazing they got on so well.
 
They were, however, both intelligent.
 
Holly’s was a more creative intelligence, but she was a whizz at languages, which partly explained how she had ended up writing travel books.
 
Lucy, at thirty-seven, was an eminent cardiologist and spent a lot of her time out of the country, hosting talks and lecturing.

Scowling, Lucy slammed the car door shut.
  
She’d have to change her stockings when she got to the airport.
 
Her flight to Heathrow was due to leave in an hour.

Lucy had studied and spent her junior years between the University of Glasgow and Glasgow Royal Infirmary, before moving on to do her SHO elsewhere.
 
Returning to the university to do research, she had subsequently remained.
 
She was good, no, great at what she did.
 
Highly competitive, she sold herself well.
 
It was difficult as a woman to become top in her field, but that was her objective.
 
When her professor retired some time from now, she wanted his job.

Revving the TT into the car park and screeching to a stop, Lucy examined her face in the mirror and stepped out of the car.
 
She frowned as she felt the suspender belt swinging loosely against her legs.
 
She’d deal with that in a minute, she thought, lifting her laptop and overnight case out of the boot.

Lucy picked up the sheaf of papers she had taken out to peruse during the flight, in preparation for her upcoming talk and began to read, ‘Myocardial viability post PCI’.

She had decided to stay in Switzerland for a few days after the conference.
 
It had been ages since she’d had a break.

On the ground at Zurich, an hour later than expected, due to the delay of her interconnecting flight, Lucy waited in baggage claim, checking her emails on her PDA.
 
She had a meeting at four o’clock.
 
It was already three and her bag hadn’t yet trundled off the carousel.
 
As the last passengers moved away, dragging their case behind them, Lucy resisted the urge to stamp her foot in frustration.

Lucy’s colleague, Lukas Bäcker, who worked in the cardiology department at the University of Zurich, had offered to pick her up, but Lucy had told him it wasn’t necessary.
 
On seeing the taxi queue, she wished she’d accepted his offer.

“Lukas!
 
How nice to see you,” Lucy offered her cheek for the obligatory three kisses.
 
She had called to advise him she was running late.

“Lucy, my dear,” Lukas kissed her and sat down again.
 
Would you like some coffee or an aperitif?”

“Coffee is fine thanks.
 
Black.”

“Certainly.”
 
Lukas placed his order with a passing waiter and then returned his attention to Lucy.

“Right, about this paper….”

They had known each other since university.
 
He was one of the few people of her own age, doing what she was.
 
He had studied at the University of Glasgow on exchange for a year.
 
They had never been romantically linked, which was probably why they were still friends.
 
They didn’t see each other from one year to the next, but knew they could call if they were coming to town and spend some time together, without any awkwardness.

They whiled away a pleasant few hours, initially chatting about work, there was no getting away from the subject of Interventional Cardiology after all, but then moving on to Lucy’s upcoming ski trip to Saas Fee in the Valais region.
 
It was one of the areas where you were virtually guaranteed snow.
 
Lucy was an excellent skier but she hadn’t been to Saas Fee before and wanted to pick Lukas’ brains.

“Yes, I have been to Saas Fee many times,” he said.
 
“My family has a lodge there.
 
Where are you staying?” Lukas enquired.

“Some spa place a friend recommended.
 
Schweizerhof?”

“It has a very good reputation.
 
It is quite remote and has an amazing view of the glaciers.”

“Yes, that must be it,” Lucy enthused.

Now that she’d had a few glasses of sparkling
Fendant
, she was mellowing.
 
The refreshing white wine was just what she needed.
 
She was trying to get into the spirit of her holiday in advance.
 
After two or three days in Valais, perhaps she’d go to Tuscany, to surprise Holly.
 
Meanwhile, she still had her lecture to get through tomorrow.
 
Oh well, it was only an hour and a half.
 
Then she’d listen to a few talks and leave for Lucerne.
  
She had always wanted to go there.
 
She’d never holidayed in Switzerland before, although she’d been to Geneva and Zurich many times.
 
Having skied in Austria, in Zell am See and Kitzbuhl, she expected Switzerland would be similar: snow-capped peaks, blazing sunshine and pristine villages with immaculately kept ski lodges, as well as some pretty fierce après ski action.
 

They were still in the bar when the porter advised her that her luggage had arrived. Thank goodness. It wouldn’t have been ideal to wear the same clothes again the next day for her presentation.
 
She decided to call it a night and Lukas accompanied her to the lift.

“Fifth floor,” she said, when his finger hovered over the buttons.

“Breakfast at seven thirty?” he asked.

“Sounds good.”

Lucy stood, calm and collected behind the lectern.
 
She watched as around two hundred of her peers filed into the theatre to listen to her present the results of her research into Myocardial Viability post PCI.
 
Inserting her flash drive, she booted up PowerPoint.
 
When the buzz died down, she began.

The presentation took a little longer than expected.
 
The good news was no-one looked bored
and she had been asked plenty of questions afterwards.
 
She stayed for a paper by a friend of Lukas’ on angiography, but when the conference drew to a close, she made a quick exit to beat the traffic.

It took Lucy just over an hour to reach Lucerne, as the roads were surprisingly quiet
.
 
A friend had recommended she
stay at the
Montana Art Deco
hotel.
 
Online it had seemed very pretty with a fabulous view of the lake.
 
Positioned at the top of a hill, its bright yellow façade with the Swiss flag flying above and MONTANA emblazoned in large white letters struck the right chord with her and she knew she was going to like it.
 
After quickly changing, she dumped her bags and went out to explore.
 

As Lucy headed down the steep slope beside the hotel, she took in the meticulously kept gardens and spotless pavements.
 
The view from her balcony had been better than expected.
 
It was idyllic, very romantic.
 
With an uncharacteristic burst of affection, she wished Carl were here.
 
Unfortunately her boyfriend was becoming incredibly boring about his restaurant.
 
He bleated on about it constantly.
 
She wondered what he would do once his fantasy was complete.
 
Initially he had seduced her with his cooking but their relationship was stagnating.
 
They didn’t do anything any more.
 
He was always at his damned restaurant.

As she strolled down the hill, she took in the other buildings and the people around her.
 
She turned right onto Carl Spiegler Quay and meandered along towards the station.
 
It was quite large, home to several good restaurants.
 
She remembered that about New York too, how Grand Central Station sported a variety of low cost, medium and top class restaurants. That said, Grand Central was an icon in its own right.
 
You’d happily pay for a meal there, just to be able to watch the hustle and bustle of the New Yorkers going about their daily lives
.

Meandering down towards the older part of town, Lucy crossed the Spreuerbrucke, a rather odd looking, zig zag bridge, which turned at right angles half way across
.
 
It was so clean and fresh in Lucerne.
 
The air, even though it was early summer, felt empty of pollutants.
 
It was bliss to kick back for a while.
 
As she took in the paintings dotted along the inside of the bridge, one called
The Dance of Death,
particularly caught her attention, with its skeletons and grim reaper.
 
It looked like the skeletons were inviting her to dance with them.
 
There were dozens of them adorning the inside.
 
There’s my culture injection for the day, she thought.

As Lucy sauntered off the other end of the bridge, she headed down Pfistergasse.
 
Stopping at the second place she came to
,
she was
greeted by a smiling waiter.
 
Ordering the local beer, she settled back to admire the view.
 
She liked to listen in to others’ conversations when she was on her own.
 
A pity she understood practically nothing.

Just as the waiter was bringing her
Eichhof
beer, she heard a man speaking in heavily accented English.
 
She resisted the temptation to turn around.
 
His voice was soft, despite his haphazard intonation.
 
He sat down at the table to her right.
 
At just short of six feet, light brown hair, slim built but with definition to his shoulders and upper body, from what she could make out over his suit, he was quite a catch.
 
Interested, Lucy concentrated on her body language.
 
All it took was the right signals, the look held a fraction of a second too long and he’d be putty in her hands.
 
She wasn’t wrong.
 
He had just put his mobile into his jacket, when he noticed her.
 
After a moment’s hesitation, he approached her.

“Excuse me, do you speak English?”

“Yes,” she replied.

“Do you have fire?”

“Fire?”

“For smoking.”

“Ah, you mean a light?”

“Yes, sorry, light, fire, I get them confused.
 
It is the same word in French.”

Ah, so he was French.

“I’m sorry, I don’t smoke.”

He grinned at her and said, “Nor do I. Would you mind if I joined you?”
 
She liked his style, so she said not at all.
 

His name was Marc.
 
At twenty-nine, he was quite a bit younger than Lucy, but that didn’t bother her.
 
Marc continued to talk about himself.
 
Although he was gorgeous, she wasn’t interested in the minutiae of his life.
 
He was a salesman, in town to meet some clients.
  
He was leaving tomorrow, as was she.
 
Quite frankly, all she wanted was sex, no strings.
 
They had dinner.
 
She chose a light salad and a seafood gratin.
 
Sex was on the cards.
 
The indicators were there.
 
She’d touched his arm once or twice when they were laughing and making jokes.
 
He’d stroked her fingers, when his hand happened to rest on the table, touching her own.
 

When the waiter asked if they would like dessert, Marc said “perhaps later,” as he looked her in the eye and asked for the bill.
 
He asked her if she wanted to come back to his hotel and she said yes.