My Husband's Wife(29)

‘A drink?’ His voice sharpens. ‘Why?’

‘He’s been helping me with a case.’ I take a glass, heavily stained with lipstick, and wash it angrily in hot soapy water. ‘We’re just friends, you know. Unlike you and Davina. I know you met up with her for a drink the other night. Don’t deny it.’

‘For pity’s sake.’ Ed flings down the tea towel. ‘It’s you I married in the end. Not her.’

‘What do you mean, in the end?’

He’s not looking at me. ‘We were engaged,’ he says slowly. ‘She broke it off. I didn’t tell you, because I didn’t want you to feel threatened when you met her.’

Threatened? Is he kidding? I feel even worse now.

‘When did she break it off? How long before we met?’

‘Two …’ He hesitates.

Two years? Two months?

‘Two weeks,’ he murmurs.

‘TWO WEEKS? You started seeing me two weeks after your fiancée broke off your engagement and you didn’t think to tell me?’

‘I explained why.’ Ed’s face is red. ‘Aren’t there things you haven’t told me about your life?’

I go hot. And then cold as the picture of the stables comes into my head. What does he know? How can he know? Don’t be silly, I tell myself. He’s just lashing out blindly. Keep quiet. Say nothing.

Ed is moving towards me now. Placing his hands on my hips. ‘Davina and I had a drink to catch up.’ His voice is pleading. ‘There was nothing in it.’

Tears are in my eyes. ‘Did you marry me on the rebound, Ed?’

‘No. I married you because … because you’re kind and caring and beautiful …’

‘Beautiful? Now I know you’re lying.’

‘I’m not.’ He holds me by the shoulders. ‘To be honest, part of the attraction is that you don’t know how lovely you are.’

‘I’m fat!’ I almost spit out the words.

‘No. You have the shape of a woman. A proper woman. But more important than that, you’re a beautiful person within. You care about putting the world right.’

If only he knew, I think to myself as Ed kisses me softly.

Doesn’t he have a right to know?

Do I believe him when he says there is nothing between him and Davina?

Do I have any right to ask when I have hidden so much from him?

And – just as vital – who can honestly declare Joe Thomas ‘guilty’ or ‘innocent’ when we’re all capable of evil on a lesser or greater scale?

The doorbell rings as I am lying in Ed’s arms. I almost did it, I tell myself. Honest love between husband and wife. Well, affection, at least …

The bell goes again. Wrapping my dressing gown around me and glancing at the clock – ten o’clock already? – I make for the door. A beautiful doe-eyed woman in a black and orange silk dress is standing there, dark curls cascading over her shoulders. I’m still so caught up with Ed and me, it takes me a second to figure out who she is.

‘I am so sorry,’ says Francesca. ‘I have to work again and I have no one else to ask.’

Little Carla has already burst through our door as if she lives here. She is dancing up and down. ‘Can we cook like we did before?’ she sings.

Of course this is an intrusion. The warning bell in my head tells me that the more I allow it to go on, the more of a habit it will become. And I have work to do. But I am just trying to form an excuse when Ed comes up, the phone in his hand, his face shocked.

‘That was Davina’s boyfriend. She’s been rushed to hospital with an asthma attack. Brought on by those lilies.’

‘Is she all right?’

‘Yes. But it could have been much worse apparently.’

To my shame, I feel a flash of regret along with relief. Then the lawyer in me goes on the offensive. ‘You should have told me she was allergic to pollen before I put the flowers out. Surely you knew?’

He shrugs. ‘I forgot until it happened.’

The intimacy of last night is fast evaporating. Suddenly we’re aware of the little girl dancing and Francesca waiting impatiently at the door.

‘Carla’s mother needs to work today,’ I say quietly.

Ed nods. The relief in his eyes matches mine. We both need a distraction from the other. This little girl with the black curls and thick eyebrows is the perfect excuse. We can play Mummy and Daddy again.

‘That’s fine,’ Ed says, turning to Francesca. ‘Happy to help out. Carla’s no trouble. No trouble at all.’





12


Carla


‘May I lick the bowl? Please! Please!’ asked Carla, the wooden spoon already midway between her mouth and the delicious-smelling mixture of egg and flour and butter and sugar. Mamma never let her taste anything before it was cooked. But something told Carla she could persuade Lily. Sometimes you just had to know the right way for the right person.

‘Pleeease?’

‘Of course!’ Lily was next to her in a spotty pink and white apron. ‘My brother and I always used to do that when I was your age.’

Mmm. Yummy!

‘Not quite so much or you’ll be sick!’ Lily put a gentle hand on her arm.