A Perfect Home (18 page)

At last Stefan stopped outside a narrow doorway. A tall man in a black suit stood just inside the door, and Stefan said something she couldn't quite hear and signed a large, lined book then together they passed into a darkly lit corridor. As she followed Stefan up a steep staircase, Claire felt nervous. She remembered that she didn't really know him at all. At the top of the stairs a door was open and light flooded out. Claire stepped into a huge, high-ceilinged room. Along its longest wall a bar stretched the entire length. It sparkled with every bottle of spirit imaginable, suspended, like glistening jewels, on a mirrored wall behind it. Long windows looked out over a leafy square on one side and into a busy Soho street on another. Each wall was hung with large black and white abstract paintings. Pale suede sofas and low glass tables were arranged around the room. It was empty apart from a group of businessmen seated beside one window and an eccentrically dressed man with a beautiful woman, both reading magazines. She was surrounded by shopping bags. Moschino, Chanel, Donna Karan, Burberry. Serious shopping bags.

‘What sort of bar is this?' she whispered to Stefan.

‘It's a members' bar,' he said, leading her to a cream-coloured sofa looking out over the square.

‘Like a private club?' He sat down beside her so that they were both facing the window.

‘Sort of. For creative media types. Do you like it?'

‘I don't know,' she admitted. ‘It's a far cry from our local pub in the village.'

He laughed. A waiter, young, blond, and chiselled, silently put down a bowl of olives on the table in front of them.

‘Hello Barney,' Stefan said to the waiter. ‘Any luck with the auditions?'

‘No, I never seem to get a break. Thanks for asking though, Stefan. What can I get you?'

‘Could we see the cocktail menu please?'

In seconds the waiter re-emerged and handed them both a long, cream-coloured menu of champagne combinations that Claire had never even imagined.

‘You choose,' Stefan said to her. ‘For us both.'

‘I think the responsibility is too much.' The list seemed to blur in front of her. She pointed her finger randomly. ‘Elderflower liqueur and champagne sounds lovely.'

‘Two elderflowers,' Stefan said to the waiter.

As they waited for their drinks they were silent. Stefan's phone rang and he apologised as he took the call. Claire stared out of the window at the chestnut trees in the square below; their leaves moved gently in a breeze. Couples lay splayed out on the grass relaxing in the summer weather. Office workers sat on benches drinking out of cardboard coffee cups or hurried down the narrow paths criss-crossing the square, eager to get to wherever they were going. After a few minutes a dishevelled man staggered into the square, shouting and waving a bottle shrouded in a crumpled shopping bag. A tangled mat of grey half hid his face. As Claire watched him he looked up. She felt as though he was looking at her, shouting at her.

Inside the long closed windows she couldn't hear the world outside, only the crisp clink of glass meeting glass and the hushed, low murmur of conversation. Below her the man was mouthing silent, angry words up towards her. Suddenly he sank down onto his knees, his face twisted as though in tears. The people in the square ignored him. Claire looked away as well. On the other side of the room the barman was mixing their drinks in tall champagne flutes. When she looked back down again the man was shuffling away, hunched up beneath his thick layers of coats. He threw his empty bottle towards a bin. It missed and smashed silently on the path.

Claire suddenly wished she was at home in her beautiful house, in her comfortable kitchen, cooking, cleaning, and weeding the garden, playing games with the children. She was a married woman, a mother of three. She didn't belong here in this life, in Stefan's life. She had been wrong to come to London. Wrong to see Stefan again.

‘Are you all right?' he asked, putting his phone away. ‘I'm so sorry about that. It was about a job I'm doing next week. I've turned my phone off. I'm all yours now.' He turned to face her, studying her with concern. ‘You look sad.'

‘This just doesn't feel right,' said Claire.

‘Here?' Stefan asked, looking around the room. ‘We could go somewhere else. Just a cup of tea in a café if you like?'

‘No. I mean I don't think I should have come to London at all.'

‘You didn't like the exhibition?' His expression looked hurt. Claire reached out and didn't quite touch his arm.

‘No,' she said. ‘I liked the exhibition very much, just like you thought I would. I mean, I don't know what I'm doing here, with you. I'm not sure it's a very good idea.'

‘Being with me isn't a good idea?' he asked her slowly.

‘Yes,' she said, nodding, then shaking her head. ‘I mean, no, it's not a good idea.'

The waiter appeared and placed two tall champagne glasses in front of them. Claire picked up her glass and took a sip; it was delicious, like a fizzy elderflower cordial. Stefan put down his glass and leaned forward. His hair fell forward across one eye and he pushed it back to look at Claire, his face serious.

‘Do you want to go right now?' he asked.

‘Yes. I think I ought to,' she finished her drink much too quickly and reaching for her bag stood up. Stefan watched her but he didn't move. Claire felt light-headed as she fumbled for her purse. ‘I'll just pay for the drinks.'

‘It's all right; they just go on my bill. I settle up at the end of every month.'

‘Oh,' Claire felt suddenly awkward. ‘I'll just leave now then. Thank you for taking me to the exhibition.' She took a small step away from the sofa towards the door. Stefan didn't make any attempt to follow her or to ask her to stay. She stopped and looked down at his face for one last time. ‘If you ever need any more aprons or perhaps a cushion or some bunting or a Christmas stocking … You know my email address, or text me, or, you know, just order on my website.' Stefan stared up at her, a flicker of a smile playing on his lips. ‘I can make anything you like,' she continued, unable to stop talking, unable to drag her gaze from his. ‘I'm sure I could do something more macho for your flat if you want …'
Just walk away and stop making a fool of yourself
she pleaded with herself.

‘Claire,' Stefan said and reached for her hand. ‘I don't want any black leather cushions or whatever you have in mind for macho soft furnishings,' he was laughing. ‘I just want you to sit down.' In an instant Claire found herself sitting beside him again as though pulled by some irresistible force. He moved slightly nearer to her, his thigh nearly touching her own, his hand still holding hers. Claire looked into his soft, dark eyes as his thumb began to make slow, tiny circles around her palm; it felt exquisite.

‘What are you doing?' she asked.

‘What are we doing?' he replied.

‘I don't know.'

‘Can I kiss you?' his face was already dangerously close, his breath warm on her cheek.

‘OK,' she whispered.

He softly touched her lips with his. The feeling was so intense it almost hurt. He moved away, looked at her, and then kissed her again. Claire closed her eyes, but bright colours swirled in front of her. Her lips parted; he tasted of champagne. She felt dizzy. The kiss seemed to last forever. When Claire finally pulled away, she was amazed to find the room still there, the bottles still sparkling on the shelves, the other customers still talking and drinking at the tables, as if nothing had happened at all.

‘Are we allowed to do this here?' she asked.

‘I don't know. I've never tried before,' he said and kissed her again.

After what seemed like a long time they sat side by side again, only their hands still entwined.

Stefan ordered more drinks. ‘Are you glad you didn't go?' he asked turning to Claire; he put his arm along the top of the sofa and his fingers gently stroked the back of her neck.

Claire felt too dazed and happy to reply. ‘I've wanted to kiss you since the moment I first saw you,' Stefan continued. ‘When I walked into your garden and found you, covered in flour, making mince pies on that boiling day, I thought you were the most gorgeous thing I'd ever seen.'

Claire looked at him; she hardly dared to breath. It was impossible to think of anything to say, so she took a sip of the new champagne cocktail that Barney had placed in front of her.

‘I can't explain it,' he went on. ‘It was like an instant connection. I knew you at once. I recognised you as if we'd known each other before. I knew how you would be – intelligent, kind, funny, easy to talk to, beautiful. And you were all those things; you are all those things and more.'

Claire laughed. She wondered if she were asleep and dreaming.

‘This isn't sounding right,' he said. ‘I sound ridiculous, I know, but that's how I felt. How I feel. I thought maybe we could just be friends, but I can't. I can't pretend not to feel the way I do about you.' She felt Stefan looking at her, searching her face for a response, waiting for her reaction. She looked back out over the square below and took another sip of champagne.

‘When I first saw you standing in my garden that day,' she said, without looking at him. ‘I expected you to be arrogant, conceited; full of yourself, maybe. But within minutes I felt as if I knew you too, as though you understood me. It was so easy. Just being with you felt so easy. You're right; it was like an instant connection between us. When you left after the photo shoot I couldn't believe that you would go; I thought you would come back … And then your sister's apron and you said you'd come and collect it, but then you didn't and your email sounded cold and so detached.'

‘I couldn't come,' interrupted Stefan. ‘I decided I couldn't see you again. It would be too difficult to hide the way I feel. I thought you'd send the apron and I hoped I'd be able to forget you.'

‘And I thought I'd send the apron and try to forget you.'

‘But I couldn't forget you. I needed to see you again.'

‘After you came to the house to take the pictures I couldn't breathe properly for days,' Claire told him. ‘I had to remind myself to breathe. I couldn't eat. I couldn't sleep. I was hardly safe to drive the car. You were in my head the whole time.' She looked at him. It was a huge relief to tell someone, to confess it all, to confess to him.

He raised her hand to his lips and gently kissed the tip of each finger. ‘Are you very happily married?'

Claire laughed. ‘What do you think? Would I be doing this if I was?'

‘I don't know,' he said. ‘You tell me.'

‘No, I'm not happily married,' she said. ‘I'm miserable. I don't think I realised how unhappy I was until I met you. I hardly recognise William any more. He's obsessed with the house, with making a perfect home.'

‘It is a perfect home.'

‘But what's the point of it if everything else is sacrificed? You said you thought I might be jealous of the house. I was cross with you for saying that at the time but the more I think about it the more I think you were right. I have been jealous. The house has come between us, he changed when we moved there, when we had the children; he seemed to fall in love with the house and out of love with me. But since I met you I'm not jealous any more. Now I just don't care.'

‘How could he not love you?' Stefan asked, pulling her close to him again. After a little while he said, ‘You don't have to stay with him.'

‘It's all so complicated. I have three children to think of.'

Stefan ordered another two champagne cocktails. Claire drank hers quickly. He ordered more.

‘I feel like I've waited years for you.' Stefan said quietly.

She gently touched his face. He took her in his arms again and kissed her cheek, her neck, her lips.

She pulled away from him. ‘I should go.'

‘I don't want to let you go,' he said. ‘I need to be with you.'

‘And I need time to think.' She looked out of the window into the square again. The shadows were long. She looked at her watch. ‘I really have got to go. I'll miss my train. It's at 5.30.'

‘We'll never get there,' he said, looking at his own watch. ‘You'll have to get the next one.'

‘I'll be late for the children. Late for Sally again.'

‘Phone her,' he said. ‘If we leave now, you'll definitely get the 6.30.'

As they stepped out into the street, Claire felt her head spin. She wasn't used to champagne in the afternoon, and she remembered that she hadn't eaten lunch. Stefan took her hand.

‘Shall we get a cab?' he asked.

‘You don't have to come too.'

‘I want to. I want to be with you for as long as possible.'

The bright light and sounds of the London evening brought reality back to Claire like a blow.

‘Do you smoke?' she asked suddenly as Stefan searched the street for a taxi.

‘I gave up recently. Why, do you?'

‘I gave up years ago, but I need a cigarette right now. I think it might help me think more clearly.'

He laughed ‘You are full of surprises. Do you really want a cigarette?'

‘Yes,' she said. ‘I do.'

‘OK, let's buy some then.'

They walked to the square that they had been looking down on from the bar, and sat on a bench. Claire took a cigarette from the packet. Stefan held out a lighter to her.

‘I'll light it,' she said, taking the lighter from his hand. As she breathed in she felt dizzy, but she also felt calmer.

‘Nice?' he asked, putting one hand around her shoulder and lighting his own cigarette with the other.

‘I'm sorry,' she said. ‘I don't know what has come over me and now I've made you smoke again after giving up.'

‘One won't hurt,' he said, smiling at her.