Alphabet Weekends - Elizabeth Noble [99]
Natalie reached for the phone, but almost as quickly put it down again. There wasn’t anyone she could call. They would all tell her the same thing. Don’t go. And she already knew that she would.
The next day Tom left a message for her at work. She didn’t call him back. Not telling him about Simon would feel like lying, and she didn’t want to do that. The next day, she told herself, while she showered, that she was going to tell Simon to his face that it was over between them, and not to call her again. And then she shaved her legs.
She chanted the same thing to herself while she did her face, ever so carefully, and dried her hair. There was no point. He’d hurt her too badly. She wouldn’t ever be able to forgive him that so there was no point. And then she chose a matching black balconette bra and dental-floss knickers.
By the time she was dressed and ready, and walking out of the house, she was thinking that everyone deserved a second chance; and by the time she pushed open the heavy glass door to Bill’s she was pretty much convinced that their break could only have made them stronger.
And he looked so damn good. Smelt better. Familiar, and sexy as hell.
He was there before her, which was rare. He had ordered champagne and handed her a glass as she sat down across from him. Wordlessly she took it, and watched his mouth as he said, ‘Here’s to us.’
And then he talked to her. He told her stories. His private practice was going well. Coronary artery bypass grafting and aortic dissection and valve replacements. A gratifyingly steady – and steadily growing – stream of middle-aged, well-off private patients, who had eaten and smoked too much and done too little and were now paying for his Alfa Spider and his two weeks heli-skiing in Aspen.
‘You’ll come. We’ll get you some lessons.’
During the starter she thought briefly how angry they would be with her. Rose, Bridge, Suze, Tom. But they didn’t know how much she had loved him, and for how long, and how it had felt to have her dream of a future with him taken away and, now, given back. All the daydreams, all the doodlings of a life, flooding back while she listened to him talking.
And he kept filling her glass. When they had finished the first bottle, another appeared.
While she played with the main course he told her about the new house. How he’d got bits and pieces for it, but it needed her touch, he saw that now, to make it a home. In a minute, she thought, he’s going to ask about me. How I’ve been. What I’ve been doing since he left me. How I feel.
But somehow, with the wine and the stories, he didn’t ask and she didn’t mind. This was what she’d wanted, wasn’t it, for so long? He had come back. It wasn’t in his nature to beg – humility wasn’t his strong suit, and she loved him just the way he was, didn’t she? Why not accept that he’d gone and he’d come back and be glad?
And he paid for dinner.
It seemed natural for him to come in. He’d had far too much to drink to drive the Alfa Spider home to his own place, hadn’t he, and hers was so much closer? For a nanosecond the right (or was it the left) side of her brain pondered what he might have done about being stranded and a bit drunk if she hadn’t let him in, but the piddled side quickly regained control and she practically rugby-tackled him as soon as they were in the living room.
Outside, Tom sat in his car. He’d been at Natalie’s end of town for a late meeting this afternoon. It had turned into drinks in a local bar. He’d come to tell her about the weekend. Skiing. Dry-slope skiing. He’d booked them lessons. He knew how Simon had mocked her because she couldn’t ski. Well, this time she’d be in the same boat as Tom. He couldn’t do it either. She’d make a face of mock-horror, rolling her eyes at another ‘inappropriate’ activity, but they’d have a grand time, laughing and fooling about, and maybe, just maybe, learning something. Z for Zermatt, if she played her cards right, he’d thought.