The Cornish Affair (34 page)

Chapter
Two

Sunday had always been their special time together because it was Tim’s only free day from the restaurant and they usually had breakfast in bed, read the Sunday papers, and enjoyed making love at least once, sometimes twice. But when she woke, realised what day it was and felt him stirring beside her she wished it was Monday morning and she could run out to work. She didn’t feel like being romantic and sexy because she was still too hurt and annoyed and knew there was bound to be a quarrel about last night. A slight headache and dry mouth reminded her how much champagne she’d drunk and she tried to ease herself out of bed quietly to get a glass of water.

“And
where do you think you’re going?” he drawled seductively, wrapping his legs around her.

She wriggled herself free. “Tim, I’ve a mouth like a sand pit and need the loo.”

“OK,
but hurry back, I need you desperately.”

“Yeah,
right,” she muttered under her breath going into the bathroom. Filling the tumbler with water she gulped greedily. You would think his first words would be an apology about missing the party but this had happened so many times lately she knew exactly what was coming next. He would make love to her and promise faithfully not to let her down again. He would apologise that his job was taking up all of his time but that as soon as the restaurant was running smoothly things would get back to normal.

God,
how many times had she heard that speech, she wondered, pulling a long T-shirt over her head, then collecting the newspapers at the front door. Heading into the kitchen she decided with a lonely social life like this she might as well be single again and then opened a text on her mobile from Sarah. Sarah had heard from Lisa that Tim didn’t go to the Savoy and there were words of consolation and support with a suggestion of meeting on Tuesday night for dinner.

She
quickly agreed via text and then heard Tim calling again from the bedroom. “I’m coming,” she yelled back, putting coffee and toast onto a tray and then tucking the papers under her arm. But this time, she thought, heading back to the bedroom they were going to talk properly and it wouldn’t include love making instead of a proper apology and explanation. If she didn’t make some kind of stand with him now this was never going to stop.

Setting
the tray down next to the bed he dived for The Sunday Times supplement and began scouring the food articles and recipes. While sipping her coffee she looked at his sleepy face and tousled hair and how he chewed on his bottom lip with concentration while he read. She’d grown to love the familiar sight of him and his little quirks but because there was still no apology forthcoming she began to munch her way through slices of hot buttered toast.

Suddenly
he threw the magazine aside as though he’d just remembered she was there. “Hungry?” he mused, roaming his hand languidly up the side of her thigh.

She
tried to pull her shirt down hoping he’d take the hint that she wasn’t interested and opened the first page of the newspaper. “Tim, my head’s thumping,” she lied, and then, probably for the first time ever, she could feel her insides flinch at the touch of his hand - she actually felt quite turned off by him.

His
dark thick hair flopped over his eyebrow. He ran his hand through it then pulled himself up onto his elbow, resting his head on his hand, looking down at her. “You’ve had hangovers before and it’s never stopped you?” he appealed.

“Yeah,
well, I don’t want to this morning, OK?”

He
sat up further, grunted and raised an eyebrow then glared at her. “I suppose this is because of last night?”

She
shrugged her shoulders in reply and shook the paper irritably. She was being childish and she knew it but suddenly she felt weary of the same situation. And so very tired of always being the one to give in and make things better.

“Look,
it’s like I told you,” he said munching into a piece of toast. “I just couldn’t walk away and leave them to it now, could I?”

Oh
here we go, she thought, he sounded so blasé as though it meant absolutely nothing to him. Wearily she said, “Not now, Tim. I can’t face another argument. I just want to have breakfast in peace.”

He
wrapped one leg over her and ran a hand lightly over her breast. “But there’s no need to argue,” he crooned. “And we can talk at the same time.”

Tweaking
her nipple between his fingers, he said, “Sure I can’t tempt you?” Involuntarily she recoiled and stiffened at his touch. His eyes widened with surprise and she could tell by his slight gasp of breath that it had shocked him. The cocky, self-assured smile left his face and was replaced by a deep scowl. He stared hard and questioningly at her while she could tell he was trying to digest what had just happened.

At
last, she thought avoiding his probing eyes and feeling pleased that her refusal had eventually had some kind of reaction. Turning away from him she spread the newspaper out on the bed.

“OK.
Please your bloody self,” he uttered angrily and chucking back the duvet he climbed out of bed and strode into the bathroom.

Since
the day she’d met him they’d only ever had a couple of what she’d call tiffs, not arguments, and he’d been huffy for a few minutes and then got over himself but this time she wasn’t too sure what would happen. His mum had told her how he’d always been huffy when he was a little boy if he didn’t get his own way and Katie had avoided situations since then that would allow him to stop speaking.

But,
she thought truculently, he wasn’t a little boy now and she had to stop giving in to him just to keep the peace. Huffiness however, wasn’t in her nature and she remembered during her childhood how her father had decreed he wouldn’t tolerate her or her two brothers not speaking to each other. If there was an argument it was sorted out and forgiven and forgotten.

She
heard the shower burst into life in the bathroom and she snuggled further under the quilt wondering how to turn the situation around so they could talk in a calm and rational manner about last night. Maybe she should start by asking him exactly what had happened in the restaurant and why he couldn’t have put her first for once. But suddenly he came back into the bedroom and pulled on jogger bottoms and tugged his running vest out of the drawer.

“Tim…”
she said quietly, but he didn’t answer and left the room. The only sound she heard was the slam of the front door.

Oh
well, maybe a good run will help his mood she thought looking around the room and smiling with pleasure at the sun shining through the white voile drapes – it seemed to dance off the lime green duvet. The walls were painted in soft pastel colours and with a thick white carpet it was both relaxing and, as her mum had put it, very easy on the eye. She knew she would never tire of the colour scheme they’d chosen.

The
telephone ringing interrupted her thoughts and she smiled as she heard Tim’s mum, Lynne, on the line. Quickly, Lynne told her their friends had cancelled at the last minute for Sunday lunch and she wondered if they wanted to come and help eat the massive beef joint she’d cooked. Katie explained that Tim was out for a run but as they didn’t have any plans for the day she was sure it would be fine.

She
was just getting out of the shower when Tim returned and wrapping a towel around herself she caught up with him in the hall. He was leaning forward with his hands on his knees taking huge deep breaths with beads of sweat running down his forehead.

Making
a conscious effort to be pleasant, she asked, “Good run?”

He
nodded his head and looked up at her with a sideways glance.

“Your
mum called and asked us over for Sunday lunch,” she said. “Apparently she has enough beef to feed an army.”

Straightening
up he wiped his face with the bottom of his vest. “That figures. Do you want to go?”

She
smiled. “Well, we don’t have much food in the kitchen…”

“Fine,
I’ll ring her back,” he mumbled.

Feeling
much brighter now that they were at least speaking to each other she hoped that with a few lunch-time drinks inside him he would put this morning behind him. The best time to talk would be when they got home early evening she decided and she was determined this time to get everything sorted out properly. Tugging 60 denier black tights up her legs she frowned - this plan however, did have its own draw-backs because she knew the minute they got home he’d be opening a bottle of wine. And, as she hurried out into the hall, where he was waiting for her, another thought struck her – was his regular drinking becoming a problem?

They
left the apartment together and walked out into a weak sun trying to radiate heat through the bitterly cold temperatures of late January.

When
they reached the pavement on Fulham Road she said, “I’ll drive, Tim, I had far too much to drink last night and a detox day will do me good.”

Giving
her a feeble smile of thanks he opened the passenger door to her Micra.

He’d
bought her a pair of knee-high boots for Christmas and she knew they looked great with her tights and denim mini skirt, and when she saw him ogle her legs while she slid into the driver’s seat - she smiled with satisfaction.

“These
boots are so comfy,” she said chattily, turning the ignition.

“Hmm,”
he uttered, folding his arms across his chest. He bent his long legs to fit into the foot well and then stared out of the window for the journey.

His
parents lived in Belgravia and when she’d first met Tim she’d been in awe of their wealth and upper class standing but when she’d got to know them she’d found that they were genuine and sincere, and she liked them enormously. There was no snobbery or falseness to them whatsoever and both Tim and his sister had been raised with good family values knowing from an early age they had to be independent. Tim’s father, Graham, had paid for his university education and rent in student accommodation but Tim had had to work in a pub like his friends for his spending money.

Pulling
into the Sunday quietness of the exclusive road she saw Lynne’s tall, statuesque figure waiting at the large black front door to the town house.

“Ah,
you’ve made it,” Lynne said warmly, ushering them into the grand hallway and bending forward to hug Katie. Tim planted a perfunctory kiss on his mum’s cheek while she took their jackets. Lynne raised a quizzical eyebrow at Katie when she noticed Tim’s miserable face but Katie shook her head slightly in warning. Taking the hint Lynne breezily chatted her way through into the lounge where Graham was sitting reading The Guardian.

Last
year when Tim told his parents they were looking for a flat to move in to together, Graham had bought the apartment on Fulham Road for them. He’d told them it would be an investment for himself but they could pay him a small rent until they’d saved up enough money for their own place. She’d been, and still was, overwhelmed by his kindness and after they’d moved in, every time she saw Graham she insisted upon thanking him over and over again until he’d thrown his hands up exclaiming enough was enough.

“Gin
and tonic, Katie?” Graham asked jumping up and heading towards the drinks cabinet. He always reminded her of Reginald Perrin when he used the saying, ‘I didn’t get where I am today.’ They’d often tease him about it to which he laughed good naturedly.

She
walked over to him and planted a kiss on his chubby cheek. “No thanks, I’m driving,” she said. “Just tonic water, please, and then I can have a glass of wine with lunch.”

Taking
the glass of sparkling tonic water, she wished they’d taken a taxi because every time she looked at Tim’s miserable face her shoulders tensed uncontrollably and the gin and tonic looked tempting.

“It’s
ready,” Lynne called, and they got up with their drinks and sauntered through into the dining room.

Katie
looked at the huge sirloin joint of roast beef in the middle of the highly polished table and knew Lynne hadn’t been exaggerating - there certainly was enough to feed an army.

“Mmm,
this looks fabulous, Lynne,” she said taking her seat opposite Tim.

Lynne’s
face lit up with pleasure. “Good, well I hope you’re all hungry.”

“I
have a feeling I’m going to be eating roast beef sandwiches all week,” Graham chortled.

Piling
fresh carrots, greens, and roasted potatoes onto her plate, Graham carved two thick slices of beef for her but when he was going to add another she held her hand up in protest. The flavour of the succulent tender beef was delicious and the Yorkshire pudding that stood majestically next to her vegetables was crunchy on the outside and soft in the middle. Hmm, she sighed contentedly licking her lips in pleasure. All the flavours mingled together perfectly and she ate with relish.

Because
Tim was a chef people were often wary about cooking for him and he often criticised their food but he never found fault with Lynne’s. Conversation ebbed for a while when they all ate hungrily and Tim, she noticed, drank his way through nearly a whole bottle of wine. She chatted happily with Lynne about a new boutique opening while Graham chipped in with funny remarks, making her giggle. Although Tim remained pleasant he only answered when spoken to, which by the end of the meal, had created a strained atmosphere.