The Curious Charms of Arthur Pepper(59)

“What do you mean?”

Sylvie shrugged. “You will find out for yourself.”

Arthur could tell that Sylvie wanted to get inside. He had wounded her pride. All conversation had come back to his wife. He kissed her on the cheek, thanked her for her hospitality and then walked back to his hotel. He felt regret, heavy in his stomach, but he had done the right thing.

The night sky was already streaked with powder blue in preparation for the next day, the stars fading. He wrapped his fingers around the bracelet and held it tight until he reached the hotel. Before he used the revolving door he paused to straighten his collar. As he did, he caught sight of movement from the corner of his eye. Turning he saw Lucy and Claude standing together in the street. Lucy kissed him on the cheek and then broke away.

Arthur hung back so they reached the door to the hotel together.

“Oh, hi, Dad,” she said, too casually.

“Hello. Did you have a good evening?”

“Yes, very. And you?”

Arthur looked at the rising sun. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, I did. Though I don’t think I will see Sylvie again. I...well, I...er, your mother...”

Lucy nodded and opened the door. “I understand, Dad. Claude was for one night only, too. Sometimes that’s okay.”





Bookface


IT FELT GOOD to be back in his own bed, in his own home. After his stay in a hostel, on Mike’s sofa, in a boutique Parisian hotel, in a manor house with orange-and-black striped wallpaper, his own room was where he wanted to be. It was comforting, familiar, like being in a cocoon. He could have his cups of tea when he wanted them.

He lay and thought for a while about his kiss with Sylvie, replaying the moment their lips met over and over in his mind. He could still feel the softness of her waist, the warmth of her pressed against him. A pit of heat radiated in his stomach and he moved his hands to feel it there. When he closed his eyes he was transported back to Paris. He could still smell her perfume.

He didn’t regret his decision not to have coffee with her, but he did wonder where it might have led. What would have happened if he had followed her upstairs and into her bedroom? Would they have made love or would he have scuttled away into the night, unable to go through with it. He would never know now. He had only ever spent the night with his wife. The idea of being with another woman made him feel both nauseous and curious. Opening his eyes, he rolled on his side and then got out of bed, flustered by his improper thoughts. Yet a small knot of longing remained in his heart.

He dressed in the trousers and shirt that he had bought with Lucy in Paris and stuffed the shirt that smelled of Sylvie into the wash basket. When he caught sight of himself in the mirror he was surprised to see that he looked good. His hair had grown longer on top. By now Miriam would insist he visit the barber in the village, but he quite liked it. He reached up and gave it a ruffle.

For just a moment he considered taking up his old routine, to make sense of the day. He caught himself looking at his watch, to see if it was time to make his toast yet. But then he thought, Sod it. He was going to go with the flow today, see what happened.

In the kitchen he ate an apple while he stood barefoot looking out of the window over the garden. He was surprised to see that the fencing around the garden looked much too high. Why had he and Miriam ever chosen such a tall structure that blocked out the view of their neighbors’ gardens? A small picket-style fence would be better.

There were only three charms left to discover the stories behind. His only lead, however, was a name. Sonny Yardley. Even though he racked his brains he couldn’t recall Miriam ever mentioning anyone called Sonny.

He started his search with the phone directory, running his finger carefully down the Y’s. There were two S. Yardleys listed, but when he phoned, one was a Steve and the other was a Stuart. He supposed she could have married and changed her name, or she might not even be alive any longer. Frustrated that he didn’t have the resources to carry on his search, he cleaned the house from top to bottom. This wasn’t as part of his routine, but because it needed it. Having been out and about for the best part of two weeks, there was a thin layer of dust covering every surface. He sang the tune played by the accordionist in the little bar that he had visited with Sylvie. He watered Frederica and placed her outside in the rockery so she could get some fresh air.

He had just made himself a ham sandwich and glass of milk when the doorbell rang. Bernadette. He jumped to his feet, then ran a hand over his new shirt. He didn’t even think about going into National Trust statue mode. It would be really good to see her. He was sure she would like to hear about Paris. He had even bought her a small gift—a cotton lavender bag with a bird carrying an envelope embroidered on it. Smiling, he opened the door. He was most surprised to find that it was Nathan rather than Bernadette who stood on his doorstep.

“All right, Tiger Man.”

“Oh. Nathan. Hello.”

“You weren’t expecting me, right?”

“No, er, I thought it might be your mum.”

“Is she not here?” Nathan said. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand. His white T-shirt was printed with large black capital letters. Parental Advice.

“No. I haven’t seen her. I’ve been to France with my daughter.”

He expected the young man to shrug and shuffle off, to mumble that he’d find her elsewhere, but he stayed put as if rooted to the doorstep. They looked at each other. “Would you perhaps like to come in for a cup of tea?” Arthur asked.