My Husband's Wife(91)

Ed had rolled his eyes to make her feel better. ‘Don’t worry – she’s working on a big case,’ he’d explained after Lily had stomped back to her study. He took off his glasses as if they were suddenly annoying him. ‘She lost the last one, so it’s essential for her to win this one.’

He had said the word ‘essential’ in a slightly mocking tone. Then he put his glasses back on and picked up his brush again. ‘Can you put your hands round that cup of coffee and stare into the distance? As though you’re thinking hard about something. Perfect!’

That wasn’t difficult. The inquiry into the hostel fire was about to take place. Everyone who had been staying there had been sent an official form asking if they had been smoking in their bedrooms on that night.

Of course, she’d ticked the box that said ‘No’.

‘Would you like a coffee after lectures?’

It was the boy with the floppy hair who kept asking her out to dinner. His auburn eyelashes were unnaturally long for a boy, and his manner of holding himself was uncertain for one so tall and good-looking. It was as though he didn’t realize how attractive he was; not just in terms of looks, but in his exquisite manners and the way he listened. Really listened.

Most boys here were loud and arrogant, fond of the sound of their own voice. Rupert was different.

Perhaps it was time to make an exception.

‘I’d love one,’ she replied, looking up from her book. ‘Thanks.’

‘Shh,’ hissed someone from the other side of the library, and they smiled at each other in complicity.

‘What did you get for your last essay?’ he asked over a skinny latte in the students’ union cafe.

‘Seventy-five per cent,’ she answered proudly.

His eyes widened. ‘Fantastic.’

‘What about you?’

He groaned. ‘Don’t ask. Actually, maybe you could help me with this awful essay on contracts! We could talk it through over dinner.’

‘What dinner?’

‘Come on, Carla. I’ve asked you enough times. I won’t bite. Promise!’

He took her to a small Italian restaurant off Soho Square. She’d expected him to falter over the order in the way that the English did when speaking her language. But instead, his accent was flawless.

‘You are familiar with my country?’ she asked as the waiter walked away.

He shrugged, pleased. ‘My parents believed it was essential that we spoke both French and Italian fluently. We were always being packed off abroad during the holidays to improve ourselves. Frankly, I think it was to give them some peace, even though we were away at school during term time.’

Just like poor Tom. Somehow, Carla found herself telling this good-looking, intelligent boy about Tom and Lily and Ed.

‘You live with Ed Macdonald? The painter?’

‘Yes. Do you know him?’

‘Isn’t he the artist who did The Italian Girl? The one which sold for all that money to some anonymous buyer?’

She flushed. ‘You know of that too?’

‘I love art. So does my mother. All my life, she’s been dragging me off to some exhibition …’ His eyes widened. ‘Don’t tell me that the model was … it was you, wasn’t it?’

She nodded, embarrassed and yet flattered too.

‘I’d love to meet him one day.’ Her companion was getting quite flustered. ‘But only if it’s not too much trouble.’

‘I’ll do what I can,’ she promised.

Carla let a few weeks go by, not wanting to bother her hosts. Ed was too busy with her portrait – it seemed to take up all his time, even when she wasn’t there to sit for him. And Lily was working so late that sometimes Carla heard her come in long after she had gone to bed. (There was usually a murmur of voices along with the sound of Ed’s disapproval.)

But eventually she summoned up courage to talk to her hostess, who was surprisingly enthusiastic.

‘Lily wondered if you’d like to come to dinner one night next week,’ said Carla as they sat over their lattes in what had become their favourite coffee shop.

Rupert’s face shone. ‘I’d love that. Thanks.’

No. The pleasure was all hers. Rupert could be just what she needed.

When Carla got back that day, there was a letter waiting for her on the hall table. It was a copy of the report on the formal fire investigation. The hostel had sent it to all former inhabitants. The cause of the fire, it informed her, was probably a cigarette. However, it had been impossible to pinpoint the culprit due to the extent of the damage and the fact that so many inhabitants had admitted to smoking in their rooms.

That was lucky.

Even better, her travel insurance would now pay out for her clothes and books. (She’d exaggerated the value slightly – the company could afford it.)

The letter also informed her that the hostel would remain closed until further notice.

Things were definitely looking up.

‘He’s just a friend,’ Carla had told Lily, shyly. ‘Someone who’s been kind to me at law school.’ But from the minute that Carla walked through the door with Rupert at her side, she sensed Ed’s hostility.

‘So you’re the Rupert that our Carla has been talking about?’

Carla flushed at the way Ed had accentuated the ‘you’re’. And the ‘talking about’ suggested she was keen rather than the other way round. What would Rupert think? Suddenly, Carla began to have reservations about the evening.