When he is dressed, he leans down to give me a kiss. He smells of mint toothpaste and my almond shower gel, and then there’s that intoxicating scent that I can’t quite define but is so authentically Patrick.
‘Can I see you tonight?’ He slips his hand down inside my dressing gown.
‘I’m sorry, I can’t do tonight. I’ll call you,’ I say.
He stands up and stares at me.
‘Lydia, I am in love with you.’
‘Oh,’ I say, unable to articulate any other words. I think I’m in love with him too, but the receipt and the money I have loaned him have thrown me a curve ball, and I need time to think.
Fortunately, we are interrupted by the loud beeping of a car horn.
He throws me another quick kiss and then bounds for the front door.
‘Hold on,’ I say. ‘You’ll need the keys to open it.’
I have an unproductive day pottering around at home, mainly because I’m overtired and my mind is in turmoil about Patrick. He says he loves me, and I think I love him too, but is he being really honest with me? I just don’t know. Those little niggling doubts at the back of my mind make concentrating so difficult. I chastise myself for not asking him about the receipt there and then, because at least I would have had clarity. I’m just glad that I’m seeing Cassie and Fiona for a drink tonight. They’ll help me make sense of my doubts.
We meet at a little wine bar in Horsham. It’s a cosy room with low ceilings, dark beams and glass tables. Fiona is already there when I arrive. She stands to greet me, planting a kiss on both my cheeks. She is dressed immaculately as always in one of her ubiquitous trouser suits. It’s navy blue today, accessorized by a turquoise blouse. It suits her.
‘You look tired,’ she says.
I sink into the chair. ‘I am. I suppose I didn’t put enough concealer under my eyes!’
She pours me a glass of white wine from the bottle already on the table.
‘What’s up?’
‘Just stuff with Patrick.’ We are interrupted by Cassie’s arrival. She has transformed her hair once again. It’s now jet black and striking against her pale skin.
‘Talking about her gorgeous man, are you?’ she says as she drops her boho bag on the floor and sits down. ‘Have you met him yet, Fiona? He’s divine!’
‘Lucky you,’ Fiona says to me. ‘What were you about to say?’
‘I think I’m in love with Patrick, but I don’t know if I can trust him, and it’s driving me to distraction.’
‘Why, what’s happened?’ Cassie has poured herself so much wine, she has to bend down to slurp from the rim of the glass so as not to spill it.
I snigger. Fiona looks bemused. I suppose she’s not yet used to Cassie’s idiosyncrasies.
‘I found a receipt for dinner for two in a posh London restaurant, but he had already told me he was in Manchester that night.’
‘Yikes,’ Cassie says. ‘Are you sure? Perhaps it wasn’t even his receipt.’
‘I know, I know. But it’s eating me up.’
‘Why don’t you just ask him about it?’ Fiona suggests.
‘Yes, I should do. I don’t want to offend him. And he’s asked me to lend him money for a rental car because his was badly damaged.’
‘You’ve loaned him money!’ Cassie exclaims.
‘Yes, for cancer treatment for his sick sister and for the rental car. But he didn’t ask for the money for his sister, I offered it,’ I say, trying to dismiss the kernel of concern that is bubbling in my stomach at my friends’ reactions. ‘Really, it’s fine.’ I’m glad I haven’t told Fiona and Cassie quite how much money I’ve loaned him.
‘It’s not fine, is it, Fiona?’ Cassie says.
‘I don’t think I’d loan someone money I don’t know very well, but it’s hard for me to say. What’s your gut instinct telling you?’ Fiona asks.
‘That he’s a good guy. He told me he loves me and I’m in love with him too.’ I feel my cheeks redden.
‘In which case, I shouldn’t worry. I can always put something in writing for you, and you can ask Patrick to sign to confirm your agreement.’
‘Thanks for the offer, Fiona,’ I say, and then change the subject. ‘I can’t wait to go to Switzerland for Christmas. The kids are having a great time.’
‘You’re really lucky.’ Fiona sighs, slumping in her chair. ‘I’ve got so much work I don’t think I’ll get much time off. I’m sick and tired of dull property transactions and drawing up wills. Think I might look for another job in the New Year.’
That jogs my memory. ‘Talking of wills, we can’t start probate for Adam’s estate until the inquest has completed,’ I say. ‘There’s still so much legal stuff to do. Actually, I was thinking I should probably change my will. At the moment, everything is left to Adam.’ I sigh.
‘I’m happy to have a look at it for you,’ Fiona offers. ‘I’m sure I can fit it in.’
‘Thanks, that would be helpful.’
And then my mobile pings with a text. I glance at it and redden.
‘Who’s it from?’ Cassie asks.
‘Patrick.’
‘What does he say?’
‘I can’t possibly show you!’ I bury my phone deep inside my handbag. Patrick has just spelled out exactly what he would like to do to me right now, and it’s making me blush pillar-box red.
14
I expect Patrick to call me after his lewd text, but he doesn’t. And I don’t call him. I need more time to work out how I’m going to raise the conversation about the receipt. But at 8 a.m. the next morning, his name flashes up on my phone. I stare at it lying on the kitchen table, watching it vibrate, listening to it ring for several seconds. Should I answer? What shall I say? But I’m too late. It stops ringing. I move across the room to make myself a second cup of coffee, but my phone starts up again. I grab it.
‘Sorry, I was in the bathroom. I missed your call.’
‘How are you this morning?’
‘Ok, thanks. And you?’ I sound as if I’m speaking to a colleague in the office, not my lover.
‘Are you sure? You sound… I don’t know, different.’
I plop down onto a chair. ‘There is something, Patrick. When you were in the shower yesterday and I was picking up our clothes, a receipt fell out of your pocket. It was for a dinner in London two nights ago. I know I shouldn’t have looked but–’
‘Hey, it’s no problem,’ Patrick interrupts me. ‘I’d have looked if the shoe had been on the other foot. You’re right, I was in Manchester, but then I had to nip down to London. My client wanted to meet in the Big Smoke. It was really last minute. He’s American and one of my best clients, so I have to wine and dine him whenever he’s in town. It’s really frustrating. He expects me to be at his beck and call.’
‘Oh,’ I say. ‘I thought you said you ate omelettes in your hotel room both nights.’
‘I did the first night, but not the second night. You must have misheard me.’