Olivia’s Luck (2000) (19 page)

He turned and followed my gaze. Slowly he took in the two chairs, the checked tablecloth, the flowers, the jam, the coffee cups. He looked startled for a moment, then his face cleared. As he turned back, his eyes glinted, as though he’d just had a brush with possibility.

“Sure,” he grinned. “Under the cedar tree it is. Shall I have a rose in my teeth?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I spluttered. “But – you might put some trousers on.”

He blanched. “Sorry?”

“N-no – nothing,” I hastened. “Forget it.” God, so
stupid
, Olivia. Why on earth should he change his shorts, for heaven’s sake?

He gazed down at his shorts. His mouth twitched.

“You don’t like my legs?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve never even looked at them!” I could feel myself blushing.

His brow wrinkled. “But you think…Ah yes, that’s it, you think that if you
do
look at them,
and
my brochure, you’ll be so overcome, you’ll start panting and have to loosen your clothes?”

“Idiot!” I spluttered. “Forget I said it. I’ll see you by the tree at eleven thirty, wear what you bloody well like. Now if you’ll excuse me I’ve got jobs to do.”

I turned and stalked off, hopefully with dignity, towards the back of the house. But after a moment, just as I was crossing the terrace, his voice stopped me in my tracks.

“What time’s Johnny coming?”

I turned. Flushed.

“What?”

“I said,” he strolled towards me, hands in his pockets, “what time is your husband coming?”

“I – don’t know what you mean!”

“Oh, I think you do, Olivia.” His voice was gentle now. Less flippant.

He gazed at me, blue eyes very intense. I took a deep breath. Raised my chin. After a long moment, I spoke.

“Eleven thirty. And yes, Lance, how clever of you, how sharp. You’ve seen right through my little plan. I did want to make him jealous, wanted a reaction from him, but unfortunately, the candidate I originally picked for the job also smelt a rat and cried off ten minutes ago, so I panicked and asked you instead, satisfied? You see, naive and new to this game as I am, I thought I’d hit on an original formula. Thought – I know, I’ll pack Claudia off to a friend, be caught by my husband having a cosy
a deux
with my lover under the tree and then, terribly flustered, say, ‘Oh, Johnny, I’m so sorry! I was so caught up with lover-boy here, I forgot to ring and tell you Claudia wasn’t here!’” I smiled ruefully. “Little did I know I’d picked a well-worn, sad divorcee’s path, one that all you predatory, prowling, single men can sniff out at twenty paces. Forget it, Lance. I’ll still have the bedside table, if you don’t mind, but I’ll just mark the brochure and give it back to you later.”

I turned and started to go towards the house, tears already pricking my eyelids. Just short of the French windows, he caught up with me.

“Hey, hang on. Don’t go off in a huff!”

I walked on.

“I just think you could do it better than that, that’s all.”

I stopped. Turned to face him. “What?”

“You want to make him jealous, right?”

“Well, yes I – ”

“And is sipping tea with some stuffed shirt under the cedar tree really going to make him see red?”

“Well I thought it might just – ”

“What time did you say he was coming?” he interrupted.

“Half eleven.”

He glanced at his watch, interrupting. “He’ll be here in ten minutes. Right. We have to get a wiggle on. Now, what we need are a couple of these,” he walked across to the washing line, reached up and grabbed a couple of towels, “and a rug, possibly – have you got a rug? Oh yes, I know. I’ve seen one in the cloakroom.” He marched inside and, as my heart began to beat faster, reappeared a moment later with it under his arm. He laid it on the grass with the towels.

“Now,” he frowned, “let’s see…I’ll take off this – ” he whipped his T-shirt over his head – “and these – ”

“No!” I squeaked as his hand went for his flies.

He grinned. “Only teasing. No, I’ll just lie down like this, I think.” He settled back on the rug, arms locked behind his head, legs stretched out, brown chest, with its a smattering of golden hair, bared. His merry blue eyes squinted up at me, into the sun. He shaded them with his hand.

“You look ridiculous, if you don’t mind me saying so. If you’d just had a romp with your lover you’d hardly be prissed up like that. You look like you’re going to the Tory Party Conference – all you need is a frigging hat – and apart from anything else, it’s eighty-five degrees. Go on, go and get your kit off and put your cossy on. Oh, and grab some suntan lotion while you’re at it. Come on, chop chop, we haven’t got much time!”

I gazed down at him incredulously. Get my kit off? Suntan lotion?

“But – ”

“What?”

“Well, he’ll hit the roof, won’t he? Seeing us laid out out here, all sort of – ”

He raised himself on one elbow. I have to say, he looked completely gorgeous. “All sort of…naked? And isn’t hitting the roof the general idea?”

I gulped, hovered tremulously for a moment, but didn’t make the mistake of hesitating again. He might change his mind. As a wave of hysteria threatened to engulf me, I ran inside, up the stairs, across the landing and into my bedroom, pulling out drawer after drawer, riffling around for my costume. My costume – oh God, could I do this? My hand stayed abruptly. I shut my eyes tight. Thought of Johnny. How I wanted him. Yes, I bloody could.

What I actually came down in – rather sheepishly – was something of a compromise: a bikini top and shorts, not quite having the nerve to go the whole hog which would involve exposing my thighs, which, since I lived in shorts, were horribly white and, as Claudia put it, ‘rather porridgey’.

I crept nervously to the rug. He was still prone, hands locked behind his head and eyes – thankfully – shut. I was grateful for that small amount of tact, for not looking me up and down as I slunk down beside him.

“Got the Ambre Solaire?”

“Yes,” I whispered, my heart going like a bongo drum.

“Good. To be applied later. With vigour. Now, what would you like me to be, a solicitor? Architect? Famous artist? And shall I change my name to Jeremy?”

I giggled. “Oh, well, now let me see…” I paused. “How about Lance, the cabinet-maker?”

He grinned across at me, seeing me for the first time with not a lot on.

“That’s very loyal of you, Olivia, but actually, I think it would be better if I wasn’t a chippy or anything too manual and close to home. It would look a little shitty of you to have bonked one of your workforce already, don’t you think?”

His eyes danced at me. I shaded mine to see him more clearly. I could never quite tell if he was laughing at me or not. Slutty? Would it? Well yes, of course it would! I inched away from him hurriedly on the towel, suddenly having severe second thoughts about this charade, when at that moment, the doorbell rang.

“Shit!” I squeaked, flipping over, face down on to the towel. “He’s here!” I shoved my fist in my mouth. “Oh God, Lance, I’m not sure I can do this. I think I’m losing my bottle!”

“Don’t be ridiculous, of course you’re not. Here – ” he passed me the Ambre Solaire – “have this one. Now, sit up and rub it into my shoulders. Firmly, please, I don’t want any namby-pamby business.” I hesitated. “And don’t forget, Olivia,” he murmured into the towel, “I’ll bet he’s just given that Nina of his a right good seeing to.”

That did it. I knelt up, emptied half a bottle on to Lance’s back, and got stuck in. His skin was soft and velvety, already warmed by the sun, and I could feel my heart pounding for various reasons as I kneaded the lotion in. A silence prevailed. Just my heavy breathing and a couple of swallows, warbling away in the treetops. Then the bell rang again. I was almost shaking with nerves now – in fact, I had a feeling I might have to run for the loo in a minute. Thank God I had my back to the side passage and wouldn’t see his face immediately. All went quiet. For ages.

“Oh God, he’s not coming round!” I hissed, panicking. “He’s going to go away!”

Lance raised himself up on his elbows. “Quite normal,” he whispered. “He feels he doesn’t live here any more, you see, so he wouldn’t presume to come round the back. I’ll go and see him.” He jumped nimbly to his feet.

“Lance! No, you can’t! What are you going to say?” I gasped.

“Oh, I’ll say you’re in the bath, soaking, and that in all the excitement you forgot to ring and tell him Claudia was away. I might yawn a bit too, scratch my sleepy head, and then as he goes, I’ll turn and walk back upstairs to the bedroom.”

“Lance!” I shrieked, but it was no good. He’d gone.

I flung myself down on the towel and stuffed the corner in my mouth.
Omigod omigod!
He’d freak! He’d go insane, he’d – he’d hit him! Would he hit him? I took the towel out of my mouth. I had a feeling Lance was just a little bit bigger, and Johnny wasn’t a fisticuffs sort of man but, oh Lord, the fur would most certainly fly. I shut my eyes tight and counted – one elephant, two elephant – like Claudia did to will the seconds by.

“Enjoy that, did yew girl?” A voice came sailing over the fence. I shot up on my elbows. Mr Jones was grinning at me from his garden.

“Sorry?” I whispered, clutching the towel to my bare-ish bosom.

“I said, did yew enjoy that, like!” He winked salaciously.

“Enjoy…what?” I flushed.

“The cucumber!”

“Oh!” Oh, the relief. “Delicious,” I assured him. “Really, really yummy.” God, go
away
, Mr Jones! I craned my head and peeked nervously round the side passage. Still no sign. Couldn’t hear anything either, no voices.

“Good, good,” he purred. He gazed thoughtfully at the spot Lance had just vacated. “Like ‘em young and firm, do yew, girl?”

“What?” I gasped.

“I said, yew like ‘em young and firm! Best way. Leave ‘em in the greenhouse too long and they’re past it, see? Start to droop at the end; can go a bit soggy too, like!”

I gulped. Heavens. What a thought.

“And I’ll have some bewtiful ripe tomatoes for yew soon!”

“Oh! Oh…good!”

Happily he seemed to have had his say, and his head disappeared as he went on his way, back to his greenhouse to urge on his bewties, no doubt. I flopped back on the towel, and just as I was thinking I might actually faint from a combination of frayed nerves and heat, Lance reappeared. He strolled back through the house, out through the French windows, hands in his shorts pockets, whistling merrily. He sat down beside me with a grin.

“Well?” I breathed, sitting up.

“He’s gone,” he smiled.

“And?”

“And, he seemed most put out. Astonished. Stunned even, and,” he frowned, “yes, very taken aback.”

“What did he say?” I squeaked, kneeling up.

“Oh, well he spluttered fairly incoherently for a bit – particularly when I explained how exhausted you were – but then he finally said something about ringing you later.” He grinned. “I said that m-i-ght be all right, but to give it a while because you really were shag – shattered and would probably still be asleep.”

“Oh!” I squealed, clutching my mouth. “You didn’t!”

“Yes, and as he turned to go I said that if he hung on for a minute I’d walk with him because I had to pop out for more baby oil. He scarpered like a scalded cat.”

“Oh, Lance, that’s a bit over the top!”

“Not at all. I always put baby oil in my bath.”

I lay back nervously on the towel. Blimey, what would Johnny think? Well, he’d think naked massaging, that’s what. I felt a bit queasy now, but then abruptly my blood boiled. After all, that was probably what
he
got up to, wasn’t it? If not worse! Why should I feel guilty? Serves him bloody well right, I thought fiercely.

Lance lay down beside me. I shut my eyes, feeling the sun beating down. At length, he murmured something.

I turned and shaded my eyes. “What?”

“I said, so you definitely want him back, do you?”

“Of course I do,” I muttered. “He may be a bastard, but he’s my husband, Lance.”

So we’d given him a nasty shock, had we? Good. Excellent news. Yes, see how that feels, Johnny, a nice sharp jab in the heart. I’d been having those coronary pains for months now, although, I realised with relief, I felt stronger now than I had for ages. Of course. Control. That was it.

“But he’s poking another woman.”

I turned my head. Squinted. “What?”

“I said he’s been unfaithful. Doesn’t that bother you?”

“Of course it does. Of course.” I frowned. “But he’s not a serial philanderer, Lance, that’s the difference. It’s a one-off. He’s never done it before, and once he’s back, he’ll never do it again. You’re looking at it from the idealistic, hearts-and-flowers, single person’s point of view,” I reasoned sensibly. “And I probably thought exactly like you before I got married, but real life, grown-up life, isn’t like that, Lance. Some marriages do go through a blip like this. You can’t just ditch twelve years for one indiscretion.”

“But it’s not an indiscretion, he’s still doing it,” he persisted. “It’s not like he’s been caught with his trousers down and – oops, up go the hands, fair cop, big disgrace, been a naughty boy but home he goes with his tail between his legs. It’s still going on. I think most affairs, or blips, as you call them, end in the guilty party slinking home, but he seems to have chosen to stay away. He’s chosen her, Olivia.”

I wasn’t quite ready for this amount of straight-talking, and whether or not Lance knew this and was deliberately shooting from the hip to shake me, I don’t know, but I found I couldn’t answer him. Had neither wind nor words to draw on. He’s chosen her. Yes, that was enough to knock the stuffing out of me. A few well-chosen words designed to bring a lump to my throat, tears to my eyes, and a ruddy great boulder to sit on my heart. Thanks, Lance.

When I’d gulped down all the detritus, I turned my head back to him, trying to think of ways to explain to a fine young chappie like this what twelve years of marriage, three homes, numerous holidays, friends, commitments, responsibilities and a child of our own felt like. How I couldn’t give it up. But his eyes were shut now, and his breathing, slow and measured. Eighty-five degrees in the blazing sun and no worries. Morpheus had swept him away.