‘To be honest I don’t usually drink that much. My husband didn’t, you see, so the odd tipple I had was on a night out with the girls, which wasn’t that often.’ I shrugged. ‘It’s no excuse, I know, but whatever the hunt was serving that night surely went to my head.’
‘Oh, I couldn’t begin to drink one of those, let alone four or five as I gather you did. Go in, love, he’s waiting for you.’
I gaped, not at the four or five, but … ‘Waiting for me? I thought he was away?’
‘He was, but he’s back.’
Janice’s grin was widening. She was also ushering me across to his door; not exactly propelling me, but exhibiting the same sort of enthusiasm she had when she’d shooed me down to the party the other night, so that before I had time to think about it I was in his room, the door shutting behind me. I do remember wishing I hadn’t got my old coat and boots on, and that my hair wasn’t slicked quite so damply to my head.
Sam wasn’t in a suit at his desk, he was over by the window with his back to me. He was wearing a dark red jersey and jeans, looking impossibly young and handsome even from behind. My heart was beating fast.
‘Hello.’ He turned. Smiled.
‘Hello. You’re not supposed to be here.’
‘I know. But I didn’t know how else to see you. And since I’m your solicitor, I thought a few papers to be signed in my absence might be just the ticket. Wasn’t sure you’d come in so readily if you knew I was here. Thought you might be embarrassed.’
‘There are no papers?’
‘No papers. Or at least – not yet. There may be later, to do with getting rid of me.’ He shrugged. ‘Depending on how you feel.’
‘Getting rid of you? Why would I want to do that?’
‘Oh … a number of reasons.’ He looked hesitant a moment. Surprisingly unsure of himself. He crossed to his desk, walking around it, trailing his fingers on the green leather, eyes down. When he finally raised them, they were heavy with something I couldn’t quite place. He gazed at me a long moment, appraisingly. Then massaged the blotter with a frenzied fingertip.
‘I’d forgotten. You are … very lovely, Poppy.’
I felt the breath rush out of me. Not what I was expecting at all. I waited, every nerve strained, every sinew tightening. But then he did an extraordinary thing. He continued around his desk to his chair and sat, which left me standing on the other side. I was dumbfounded. Surely after such a sentence, baffling or otherwise, a tumble towards each other, arms outstretched, was pretty much mandatory? Had I misheard? Had he perhaps said, ‘You are very lonely, Poppy’? Ipso facto a loser? No, I was sure he hadn’t. Nonetheless I couldn’t stand in front of his desk like a fourth former, so I sat, in my usual chair, heart pounding. He sat too, in silent contemplation, it seemed, of his blotter, which he drummed lightly with his fingers. It was as if we were miles away from each other, and not just geographically; not just the vast leather-topped desk between us. The air seemed heavy with portent.
‘Sorry about the other night,’ I blurted, the first to blink. ‘Getting so pissed and everything, chasing you down corridors. Singing. I don’t remember much about it, to be honest. I don’t drink a great deal and I clearly overdid it.’
He looked up and smiled; it reached his eyes. He sat back in his chair and looked at me properly, still retaining the crinkly eyes. ‘I liked it.’
‘You did?’
‘Yes, I hoped it was in vino veritas. Some indication of how you felt. It’s certainly how I’ve been feeling, although obviously I couldn’t express it.’
‘Obviously,’ I whispered, thinking: why not? Why? In some senses this was hugely encouraging, but … was there another wife, I wondered wildly? Not just the one? Would number two spring from that cupboard by the door any minute now, head to toe in Chanel?
‘Poppy, I’ve made a terrible mess of my life so far,’ he said softly, and all at once I knew. There didn’t have to be another wife. One was enough. Hope was at the bottom of this. ‘I got married very young, fell madly in love, and it all went badly wrong. I got very hurt.’