The Mistress - Jill Childs Page 0,26

myself together. A dark shadow loomed against the wavy security glass. I put a sweaty hand on the lock and opened it.

Him. Really him. Clutching a gold bouquet of autumn flowers. That smile.

He held out the flowers and I took them, buried my face in the yellow and gold, hiding.

‘Can I come in?’

I stepped to one side, so close to him in the hallway that I felt the heat from his body. He was slightly out of breath.

‘Did you run up?’

He handed me a bottle of wine. Shiraz. ‘I had to. I couldn’t wait. I wanted to see you, Laura Dixon.’

He opened his arms and I stepped right into them, squashing the bouquet. I felt the hard muscle of his chest through his cotton shirt, let his arms enfold me. I found myself smiling, crazy smiling. I was happy. I was home.

He pulled away a fraction and looked down at me, still holding me loosely in the circle of his arms.

‘I was worried.’ His eyes read mine, relieved and perhaps amused. ‘I wasn’t sure.’

I nodded. I knew exactly. But it was all right. He was here and we wanted each other, we belonged together. Nothing had felt so sure for a long time, not for me. His arms felt safe, wrapped around me, and his smell enveloped me too, that heady, sexy mix of soap and shower gel and fresh sweat, tying my stomach into knots. Nothing else mattered. I didn’t care that the salmon was drying out, that my head was already reeling with gin, that my body wasn’t as lean and taut as it used to be, that the only crisps left in the bowl were the broken, salt-encrusted scraps of the packet end.

Being with him was enough. I was full of hope, full of love, full of craziness.

We made love for the first time that evening. Later, much later, after the salmon and the Shiraz – a bad choice for fish but that didn’t stop us – he took me to bed. Well, to the floor in the sitting room. We discarded clothes, piece by piece, and he kissed every inch of me.

When I was dozing and already thinking how wonderful it would be to wake up next to him in the morning – to make love again, then sleep some more and finally, late in the day, go out for coffee and croissants, maybe in that café on the high street, full of loved-up sleepiness, huddling close together on our seats and clinging to each other as we ate, licking flakes of croissant from each other’s fingers, my face scratched from his stubble – it was only after all these thoughts and dreams of what lay ahead that I realised that he was easing himself away from me.

I opened my eyes, feeling the draught down my side. He was looking for the bathroom, perhaps. Or heading to the kitchen for a drink of water.

No. He was gathering together his scattered clothes, turning his underpants the right way round, starting to dress. Getting ready to leave.

My stomach contracted. The woozy dreaminess disappeared in a second.

‘Ralph?’

He crept across the floor and bent to kiss the tip of my nose.

‘Gotta go,’ he whispered. ‘I’m sorry.’

I hesitated, watching his deft movements, seeing his naked body disappear under clothes and wondering when and if I’d see it again.

I twisted to look across the shadowy room to the clock. Half past midnight.

Why did he have to go? I was afraid to ask.

He was fully dressed now. Keys and coins jangled in his pocket as he arranged the folds of his trousers and fastened his belt, becoming his outside self again.

He sat on the edge of the settee to ease on his shoes and lace them, then stooped again to kiss me, on the lips this time. ‘Parting is such sweet sorrow.’

I tried to remember how much wine he’d had. ‘Are you okay to drive?’

He smiled. ‘I’m fine.’

I blinked. He’d kept refilling my glass. My head was spinning. Had he been more careful about his own?

‘Can’t you stay?’ I regretted it at once. Too needy. Too begging. No, Laura. Don’t demean yourself.

He didn’t look cross, just rueful. ‘I wish I could. Believe me.’

I opened my mouth. I nearly said it out loud, this thought that had just rushed in like a tidal wave, Is there something you need to tell me?

I couldn’t. I swallowed back the words. Not now. Not like this.

He whispered goodbye and disappeared, taking the air, the life out of