The Peacock Emporium(108)

“Douglas,” she had said, as he rose slightly and stared at her for several minutes, not quite able to cope with the reality of her, the fleshed-out version of the specter that had, for almost a year, haunted his dreams. “Don’t you look smart?”

He had glanced down at his suit, fearful that he might have spilled something on it. And then he stared at her, aware that he was overstepping some boundary but unable to stop himself.

“Do let’s sit down,” she said, with a nervous, teasing smile. “People are beginning to stare.”

“Of course,” he had muttered, and shuffled back into the booth.

She looked altered too, although it was impossible to say whether this was because the Athene of his memory, his imagination, was a perfect creature. This woman opposite, although beautiful, although irrefutably his Athene, was not quite the goddess he had become used to picturing. She looked tired, her skin a little less polished, a little more strained than it had once been; her hair was swept into a haphazard chignon. She was wearing, he noted with a jolt, a suit she had bought on their honeymoon, which she had decided after one wearing was “an abomination,” and sworn to throw away. Next to the brightly colored creations of the girls out on the street, it looked old-fashioned. She had lit a cigarette. He noticed, with some relief, that her hands were trembling.

“Can I have a drink, darling?” she said. “You know, I’m absolutely gasping.” He waved over the waiter, who looked at her with mild interest. It was when he caught the man staring ostentatiously at her left hand that Douglas realized, with a lurch, that she no longer sported her wedding ring. He took a sip of his own drink, trying not to think about what that might mean.

The important thing was that she was there.

“Are you . . . are you well?” he asked.

“Fabulous. Apart from this awful weather.”

He tried to glean some clue from her appearance, to muster the courage to ask the questions that revolved remorselessly around his head. “Do you come up to London much?”

“Oh, you know me, Douglas. Theater, the odd nightclub. Can’t keep me away from the old Smoke.” Behind her voice was a brittle gaiety.

“I went to Tommy Gardner’s wedding. Thought I might see you there.”

“Tommy Gardner?” She blew smoke dismissively through painted lips. “Ugh. Couldn’t stand either of them.”

“I suppose you must have been busy.”

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, I was.”

The waiter brought Athene’s drink, and two leatherbound menus. She had ordered a gin and tonic but, when it arrived, appeared to lose interest in it.

“Would you like to eat?” he said, praying she wouldn’t want to leave immediately, that he hadn’t already disappointed her.

“You order for me, darling. I can’t be bothered to read my way through all those choices.”

“I’ll have the sole,” he told the waiter, reluctantly tearing his glance from his wife long enough to hand back the menus. “Two soles. Thank you.”

There was a strange disquiet about her, he noted. Even though she was perfectly still, as languid as she ever had been, there was a visible tension in her, as if she were strung between two taut wires. Perhaps she is as nervous as me, he thought, and attempted to quell the leap of hope prompted by this thought.

There was a painful silence as they sat opposite each other, occasionally catching each other’s eyes and raising tight, awkward smiles. In the booth beside them a group of businessmen burst into raucous laughter, and he caught the faint raising of Athene’s eyebrows, the look that said they were simply too ridiculous for words.

“You didn’t even talk to me,” he said, trying to say it lightly, as if it were a mild reproach. “You just left a note.”

There was a faint clenching of her jaw. “I know, darling. I’ve always been useless at those sorts of conversations.”

“‘Those sorts of conversations’?”

“Let’s not, Douglas. Not today.”

“Why didn’t we meet at Dere? I would have gone to your parents’ house, if you’d wanted.”

“I don’t want to see them. I don’t want to see anyone.” She lit a second cigarette from the first, and crumpled the now empty packet in her hand. “Douglas, you wouldn’t be a darling and order me some more ciggies, would you? I seem to be out of change.”

He had done so without hesitation.

“You are a dear,” she murmured, and he was not sure if she was even aware what she was saying.

The food arrived, but neither of them had the appetite to eat. The two fish sat balefully in congealing butter until Athene pushed away her plate and lit another cigarette.

Douglas feared that this suggested her imminent departure. He couldn’t wait any longer. He had nothing left to lose. “Why did you call?” he said, his voice cracking.

Her eyes met his and widened slightly. “Aren’t I allowed to speak to you anymore?” she said. Her attempt at coquettishness was hampered by the strain round her eyes, the fleeting glances she kept casting toward the front of the restaurant.

“Are you waiting for someone?” he said, suddenly filled with fear that He might be there too. That this might all be some elaborate ploy to make a further fool of him.