A Parliamentary Affair (67 page)

She moved his hand deeper inside her thighs, holding him there, where he could feel the welcoming moistness. He groaned desperately and leaned his head on her shoulder.

She nibbled his ear, and whispered to him. ‘You get me too, of course. Marriage if you want it, even kids. Or not: I am at your command.’

In a moment she had unzipped him and, draping his overcoat around them both, hitched herself up on to the parapet and opened herself to him. A car went past and hooted, but they took no notice. His arms held her tight to prevent her from falling as he pushed and emptied himself into her; so great was his need, and so crass the occasion, that it did not take long, with Miranda giggling and panting in his ear.

At last he eased away an inch and tidied himself, but her legs were still around him, her sex hidden in the darkness of his coat. Holding her firmly with one arm, he caressed her clitoris to ensure she was satisfied; he heard the sharp intake of breath and felt the jerking as she responded. For several
more moments they clung together, her head resting on him. Then by mutual consent she slid back on to her feet, wriggled her skirt down and kissed him gently on the lips.

‘You never cease to amaze me, Andrew,’ she said shakily. ‘I love you very much, do you realise that? That’s why I want you to go with me. Please.’

‘I love you too, more than I can begin to tell you.’ It was true. Every fibre of his being screamed out for her, to head for the nearest bed and have her again, properly, slowly, for hours, until neither could imagine needing more. All that this extraordinary wild episode had achieved was to rekindle his need for her, just as Miranda knew it would. She understood him all too well. He suspected Tessa did too, though she would avert her thoughts from any consideration of his sexuality, as if a whole person could exist without it.

He was faced with a conundrum. Life with Tessa was bearable only because Miranda was there. Without Miranda, he could not imagine that his carefully constructed facade with Tessa would survive for five minutes. Now he had discovered how wonderful and vivid sexual congress could be, how much meaning love gave, he could never again live without it. Without Miranda, with Tessa alone, life would be impossible.

But life with Miranda and without Tessa…? Suppose he chose Miranda? Divorce, from Tessa, would surely follow. A divorce would be damaging if he continued in the political world, but would not matter at all if he was off to Australia.

Then there was the child. Of course he would apply for custody, and make out a strong case. Barney would love the antipodes; it was a younger, more open-air life, with swimming and sailing, no uniforms, fewer rules all round, less ingrained unnaturalness. Perhaps his grandfather would come out to join them, and enjoy sunning himself by the pool, wearing a broad straw hat and a sun-wizened expression like all the other expat Brits who had found paradise near Sydney. The memory of Tessa would fade, quite quickly. He was certain of that for himself, feeling almost guilty at how little impact she had made on him, other than the negative. The boy was eight – old enough to remember; but he too would soon forget, especially if he settled quickly into a new school. In fact Barney was the right age to go, before he would be sucked into a cold boarding school on the Devon moors next year and become tied to the British way of life. Of one thing Andrew was miserably certain – that if the boy had the same upbringing he had himself suffered, his adulthood would contain all the same seeds for unhappiness. Miranda was offering them both a way out.

‘Could I bring my son?’ he whispered. ‘He would love it. I might even get to know him better in Australia. I would like that.’

Miranda laughed, not at him but with him, sharing his pleasure. ‘As long as he doesn’t start calling me “Ma”. I’m not into instant motherhood. But sure. I have nephews back home, they’d be delighted to introduce him around. And if he grows up as gorgeous as his dad he’ll be a wow with the ladies in due course.’

Above them the great clock began to whirr and reverberate. Both looked up at the huge disks which marked the time for a hundred nations around the world. It was midnight. The tower seemed to draw breath before sounding, like a living thing. As the great notes boomed out on the night air, Miranda’s laugh became uneasy.

‘I feel like I’m about to turn into a pumpkin. Do I take it that the answer is yes, then? If I kiss my prince, does he stay a prince, or does he turn into a turkey?’

‘He feels like a king,’ Andrew answered, and kissed her once more. Then he broke away. ‘Look, I have some talking to do back home. I won’t come back with you now, but I’ll contact you tomorrow. Now go, and sleep tight.’

Tessa heard him come in, hang up his coat, head for the bathroom. She waited, her eyes bright in the darkness, but he did not knock on her door; the power of habit was strong in her husband. If there was to be a confrontation it would be in daylight, under control.

She heard his bed creak and then he was still, though she could almost sense the intensity of the thinking going on the other side of the wall. Quietly she slipped from under her own bedcovers and knelt barefoot at the side of the bed on the rug, hands clasped in prayer. If she was to carry out successfully tomorrow what she was minded to do, she would need strength from somewhere far beyond herself. If she failed, she would lose Andrew for ever.

Karen looked up. ‘What’s the matter, Mum?’ she asked gently.

Her mother slowly placed the spoon on the table and pushed away the bowl of cereal. In her other hand the two-page neatly typed letter shook visibly. The shaking was picked up and magnified by a vase of early tulips in faintest blush pink, which nodded and sighed like sympathetic friends. On the wooden dresser a new clock hummed, its second hand sweeping inexorably.

Elaine spoke dully. ‘Nothing. It’s time for you to get ready for college. You’ll miss the bus.’

In which case I would cadge a lift, as you well know, Karen thought, but kept it to herself. ‘Is it from Dad?’

The question hung in the air. That it was not immediately answered was answer enough. Her mother’s face bore an expression of utter misery. Karen rose and stood behind her chair, leaning down, arms across her mother’s breast, dark head to fair, reading over her shoulder. Elaine did not stop her.
There were two letters, the first from a solicitor which formed a covering letter to another from Mike. Both had been typed on the same official typewriter, which suggested Mike must have dictated his letter to his lawyer’s secretary, and had it checked before signing it. The realisation that this was only a semi-private communication brought a stab to Elaine’s heart, even though he had been gone for over six months.

‘He might have written a personal note in his own hand,’ she whispered. ‘Was that too much to expect?’

Together they read the letter from Mike.

The letters trembled and fell to the table. Elaine could not explain why she crumpled in sobs, great retching yelps that shook her for several minutes, as she scrabbled for tissues and was held closely, from behind, by her daughter.

The callousness of the letters destroyed all her equanimity at a stroke. Mike was not suffering, not he. Not at all. Within a few weeks of his leaving this house, cheek swollen and aflame, he had taken another complaisant woman to bed, a little younger than herself, and had got her with child. That latter bit had to be almost deliberate, if not on his part then the woman’s. A 36-year-old could not hang around if she wanted a family.

And Mike would get the best reward of all: a son, a replacement for Jake. She, Elaine, could never turn the clock back in the same way; she could not, or would not now, have any more children. She would be forty next year, even had there been a suitable father in the offing, which Roger most definitely was not, the whole idea was unthinkable. Mike had never spoken of the dead child, yet he had grieved as much as she. Now he had taken the first opportunity of putting that part of his life to rights. He was to have a son, another son, and the baby and his mother would make him a very happy man indeed.

Elaine could see that all too clearly. She realised in the same instant that she did not have it in her to deny her husband his contentment, his consolation prize, after so many difficult years married to her. Some consolation prize! This second marriage of his had every chance of turning out well. An air stewardess, geared to customer satisfaction, was unlikely to put her own needs above those of the supreme customer, her husband. Anybody who could choose that as a job would probably slip into marriage with great deftness, especially if after years of the high life she was ready to settle to domesticity. If Mike could give her a good standard of living, Linda would return it with warmth and competent orderliness. The icing on the cake was that he would be living closer to his work. In that household it would be his job which counted, not his wife’s. How very ironic; how neat, how obvious, how cruel.

Mike would not have realised it but his new-found joy with Linda hurt more than Elaine could say, for it was a pointed and detailed commentary on her own failure, as a wife and as a woman. Had there been some political success, her own priorities satisfied, to set against that omission, she might have minded less. But there was none.

Karen continued to hug her mother, gently, as if she were fine china and might break. ‘Don’t cry, Mum. It’s better this way. You knew it was coming, sooner or later.’ The weeping subsided at last. Elaine patted her daughter’s arm in mute thanks. Then a thought occurred to her and she twisted around until she could see Karen’s face.

‘Did you? Know it was coming, I mean?’

The girl returned to her seat and fiddled with her coffee mug. ‘Yes, in a way. Dad phoned last weekend when you were out and told me he wanted to get married again, and asked if I wanted to go and live with them. He tried to persuade me to meet Linda before making up my mind. He’s very keen on her – I don’t think you’ll talk him out of it, Mum.’

‘I wouldn’t want to. He left, not me. If he’s found someone else I can only wish them every happiness. May I ask what answer you gave him?’

The formality of the question reminded Karen that her position was not the same as her mother’s. Her response was guarded and tactful.

‘I’m in college here and I like it. If I move anywhere, it would be to London if you’d let me – it can be a bit of a drag up here on my own a lot. But it’d be taking a chance, uprooting myself and going to stay with a stepmother all dotty about her new baby. We might get on like a house on fire, or we might fight. I could easily make things hard for them, and for myself. There are lots of articles about stepparents in my magazines, you know. It didn’t seem like a brilliant idea, to be honest.’

To her father, Karen had offered congratulations and thanks, and a promise to attend the wedding, but no more.

She had pointed out the expenses of a new baby and hinted that the additional and unpredictable costs of a teenager might be better borne by her mother. Mike’s written offer to support her, should she stay with her mother, was no more than a court would insist on, but nevertheless showed a willingness to accept that responsibility, and perhaps also to purchase her continued contact and fend off a guilty conscience. He need not have worried about that; Karen would take it upon herself to keep in touch. She was fond of her father but he had become a distant figure who, she suspected, would not have realised how much she had grown up in the last couple of years. Fathers never did.

‘Mum, what are you going to do?’

Elaine was slowly recovering. She stood at the sink and splashed her face with cold water, patting it dry on the kitchen towel. The result was streaky black eye make-up on both her cheeks and the towel, causing Karen to laugh and point. ‘You can’t go out like that!’

Elaine peered in the little kitchen mirror on the window ledge and dabbed at the mess. She grinned ruefully at her daughter. ‘I guess I shall have to start all over again, sweetheart, and I don’t just mean my face.’