Our Little Secret (27 page)

58

When the wind picks up, the temperature drops and we hurry down below and squeeze up together in the shower cubicle in the cabin. He lathers up my hair and washes me.

He holds me close as the water dribbles over us.

‘I’m sorry about that night,’ he says, softly, stroking suds along my back. The way he touches me makes me feel like he’s trying to memorize me. I’ve never felt more cherished.

‘What night?’

‘When I made you go to bed. I felt terrible. I realized that night what was happening. What was happening to me? How I felt about you and . . .’

I kiss him then. I’m so touched by his confession.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ I tell him. Because it doesn’t. Not any more. We are right here, right now in this moment. Together. That’s all there is.

I remember then, him telling me that I would have a different view of sex once I had sex that had changed my life.

As I rest my head against his chest, clinging onto him, I know now what he meant.

And then it’s happening again. I feel him stiffen between us and I caress him in my hand.

He twists me around and I lean up against the shower wall as he enters me from behind. I gasp as he fills me up, holding my arms up, his fingers entwining with mine. He bites my earlobe and I know that his is the only body I ever want next to mine for the rest of my life.

But already I know that the stopped clock has started again. That the delicious pocket of time we’ve had is over. That we’re already racing towards an unknown future.

59

We don’t talk about what has happened as we sail back, because the journey is rougher. The boat bucks and dips, like it is refusing to go back to reality, too.

Back in our clothes, I guess we look as if everything is as it was this morning, and yet everything has changed.

Now my body knows his, it’s as if I can hardly bear the clothes against my skin. I want to be naked with him all over again. I put my hand over his on the tiller, running my fingers over his knuckles, memorizing the shape of the freckles on the back of his hand.

I sense our connection being broken as the harbour comes into view and I feel him tense. He starts issuing instructions about the sails.

When the last sail is in and the motor is on, and the boats come fully into view, I see the golf buggy coming along the jetty and I suspect there’ll be the same efficient journey back to Thousand Acres, but I know it’s going to take every ounce of my strength to step off the yacht and back onto land.

I think of the house, and of Marnie waving us off and of my room there, and I feel a sudden chill.

‘What are we going to do?’ I ask him. ‘I mean, how will it be?’

He looks deep into my eyes. ‘Oh, Sophie,’ he sighs, but something in his tone sets alarm bells ringing. ‘You have to know that this afternoon was magical for me. But I think we both know that it can’t happen again. You understand that, don’t you?’

I hear him say the words, watch his mouth move, but I can’t believe him. I refuse to believe what he’s saying.

‘No. I don’t understand anything any more. I don’t understand how I can feel like this, when I’ve only just met you.’

I stare at him, my eyes welling with tears, and I see that he looks emotional, too.

‘I’m sorry,’ he whispers and I know he is. But that doesn’t stop it being unbearable.

Surely it can’t just be a one-time thing? It feels too monumental for that. And he knows I’m thinking that, because he leans forward and puts his forehead against mine.

‘I feel it, too,’ he says. His voice is husky. ‘But we can’t ever be together like that again. There’s too much at risk. There’s . . .’

He doesn’t have to say it. He can’t say it, and neither can I. There’s Marnie, his kids and the fact that I work for him. And I know that he’s saying it, but I refuse to believe it.

I refuse to believe that he can’t ever be mine. That this is end, when it feels like the beginning.

60

The journey back in the helicopter is excruciating. I can’t bear to be next to Edward and not able to touch him. He’s stressed about the time, and that we’re late back to the house. He speaks to Marnie on his mobile and I pretend not to listen, but he’s his usual affectionate, charming self and she doesn’t suspect a thing. His voice doesn’t betray even the slightest hint of what has happened.

He sits in the front next to the pilot. We don’t speak at all and, as the helicopter lands on the grass at the back of the house, I know I’ve missed my chance for any further communication. I can’t look at him, as the pilot opens the door for me to get out and Edward offers me his hand as I jump down.

I see some people wave at us from the terrace. A couple. He has a pink cashmere jumper draped around his shoulders and she’s wearing a proper cocktail dress and heels. She holds onto her skirt and her champagne glass, as the rotors of the helicopter cause a windstorm. I can tell they are laughing – thrilled by the novelty of their host arriving like this.

But, then, I guess they’re used to it. These sophisticated people are Edward and Marnie’s friends. The kind of moneyed, cultured people who inhabit their world. Seeing them here makes the dream of this afternoon shatter like a mirror.

‘Hurry up, Ed,’ Marnie chides him, as we run in through the kitchen door. She’s wearing a light-blue translucent lace dress, which hugs her curves. She looks elegant and sexy at the same time. She’s got a tray of hot canapés that she’s about to plate up and the kitchen is filled with a delicious smell of roasting chicken. There’s no sign of Mrs Janey. Marnie, the perfect hostess, is doing this all herself.

‘Angelo’s got the most hilarious story about the auction in Singapore. You’ll die when you hear who was there,’ she says to Edward, before reaching up and kissing him on the cheek.

I glance through the kitchen to where a door I’ve never seen open has been pulled back to reveal a chic dining room. The candlelit table has been laid up with immaculate china set for four. There’s a beautiful flower arrangement in the middle and yet more fine artworks are illuminated on the wall. It’s breathtakingly sophisticated. Another red room, then.

‘You both look so sea-swept,’ Marnie laughs, looking at us both.

My cheeks sting from sunburn and from something else, too. Something much more painful that she can’t see. My eyes are tired from all the salt, and from the strain of not letting my hot tears fall.

‘Do you want to join us?’ she asks me. ‘Dinner is nearly ready.’ Her smile is open and friendly. She doesn’t suspect a thing. But why would she? Why would she ever suspect that Edward would betray her with someone like me?

I shake my head. She’s just trying to be polite, but I know she doesn’t want me there. Besides, I can’t sit around that table making small talk with Edward, Marnie and their friends. Not after what happened today.

‘Thank you, that’s really kind, but I’m going to take a shower.’

‘What have you done to Miss Henshaw?’ Marnie says, punching Edward playfully. ‘She looks exhausted.’

‘All that sea air. Miss Henshaw is a fine sailor,’ Edward says. He doesn’t look at me.

‘The boys will be thrilled at that news,’ Marnie says, with a knowing look at Edward. ‘Rather her than me.’

But already I don’t want ever to go back on that yacht, unless it is a repeat of today.

‘I’ll catch you later then,’ I say, lamely, watching as Edward steals one of the delicious-looking canapés from Marnie’s tray. He puts his arm up to wave at me, but still doesn’t meet my eye.

Then he puts his arm around Marnie’s shoulder and walks with her towards the terrace, calling out a friendly greeting to his friends.

61

I take a long bath and carefully sponge down all the places where Edward kissed my body today.

I take in a shuddery breath as I lie back in the steaming bubbles, picturing myself as he made love to me in the sunshine, and then in the shower. And now we’re back and he’s downstairs with his guests and Marnie, like it never happened. I feel a tragic sense of loss that I can’t deal with.

I’ve really gone and done it this time. I’ve really gone and got myself into one hideous, enormous scrape. What am I going to do? Am I going to stay here and look after the boys, and pretend this afternoon never happened? Can we both really keep such a momentous secret?

My mind skitters about, trying to grab onto something solid, trying to relive this afternoon, but then make sense of what it all means, now we’re back here at the house and have crash-landed into reality.

I’m still amazed that it happened. Amazed that I was brave and confident enough to make the first move. Looking back on how the event played out, I can’t blame Edward. It’s my fault. I kissed him first.

Maybe it was telling Edward about Mr Walters that did it. Perhaps it was my very trustworthiness, my ability to keep a secret, that clinched it for him.

But I don’t know if I
can
keep this a secret. It feels too big. It’s all-consuming. As if it’s already taken me over and fundamentally changed the person I am.

But I have no choice. I can’t tell a soul. And even if I could, who would I tell? I can’t tell anyone at home. What would Tiff say? She’d be horrified. She was shocked enough at Mr Walters, but she’d be disgusted with me if she knew about Edward. That I might have screwed up my one decent chance of employment because of my stupid crush.

I can’t confide in anyone here. There’s nobody to confide in. Mrs Gundred would fire me on the spot, and everyone else would blab straight away. Of course they would. They’d tell Marnie.

Oh God. Marnie. What if Marnie suspects, or ever finds out? She’d hate me and feel so betrayed. I dread to think what she would be like if you crossed her. I dread to think how it would feel to incur her wrath, which I would, if she got even one tiny hint of what I’ve done. What we’ve done.

What we
did.

Because, according to Edward, that’s it. It will never happen again.

And the worst bit is that I now see that for myself. I refused to believe it on the boat, but just seeing Marnie, being in the house, seeing how complex his life is, I realize what a stupid fantasist I’ve been.

Having an affair under Marnie’s nose? In her house? It’s unthinkably dangerous.

I should leave, I tell myself. I should get out of here. But what excuse would I give? I can’t just leave, when they’ve been so nice to me. When they’ve tried to bond with me and make me feel at home.

But if I stay, then that little agonizing scene I witnessed just now will be a daily torture.

I groan and cover my face with a hot flannel, but I can’t escape all these feelings. I know all of this, but still my heart aches for Edward. It can’t really be over, just like that, can it? Not now I know he hasn’t been able to resist the force that has pulled us together, either. Which means there is a slim chance that he might not be able to again.

Perhaps he is just as shell-shocked by what happened this afternoon. Perhaps it’s ten times worse for him. Maybe he’s eaten up with remorse and guilt. I picture him downstairs, with his brooding, dark gaze, trying to hide his secret from Marnie. Is it as unbearable for him as it is for me? Maybe, just maybe, it is.

Or maybe he’s taken it all in his stride. Maybe I’m not the first affair he’s had. Maybe he’s had loads of women before me, and managed to keep them a secret from his adoring wife. Maybe, maybe, maybe. I can’t bear this mental torture.

I get out of the bath and apply moisturizer and wrap myself in the dressing gown, but I feel at once too hot and shivery, like I have a fever. As Elvis used to sing from Dad’s record player, ‘I’m all shook up.’

It’s getting dark now, and soon it gets late. I don’t hear anything from downstairs and, restlessly, I toss and turn in the bed. But the waterbed just reminds me of being on the boat, so I get up and sit on the window seat, staring out into the garden; but somehow it doesn’t feel quite so romantic any more, now that I’ve seen the big wall. The big wall that is imprisoning me here, trapped with this secret.

I hug my knees, watching the clouds cross the moon, thinking of the yacht, but already the memory of it is sailing out of reach. I smooth out the picture Edward drew of me, which I insisted on taking, just before we left the yacht.

Is that really me? Is that how he sees me? I look at the curve of my spine and waist, and how he’s captured the expression on my face. I’m so touched that he drew me like that. That I was beautiful for him. It feels so private to have a token of his creativity, a tiny part of him.

I clutch the picture to my chest, my heart aching for the touch I know will never be mine again.

And then I hear it.

The knock on my door.

For a second, I just stare. Is it Marnie? Does she know? Has he told her? Has she come to slap my face and tell me to leave?

My pulse racing, I creep across the carpet and open it.

62

He’s right up against my door, like he’s leaning on it for support. He’s not drunk, but he looks broken.

‘I just wanted to check you’re OK,’ Edward says, but his voice catches. His eyes are pleading with me as they meet mine. I can see straight away that he’s fought a battle with himself, and lost.

I’m so relieved to see him, I want to cry. I wrap my arms around myself, trying to hold myself together. I stare at his shirt.

‘Sophie?’ he whispers, and I let out a small, gasping sob that comes from somewhere inside me.

I close my eyes. This is unbearable. I reach out and put my hand on the front of his shirt. Then he takes my hand and kisses my palm.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says in a low voice. ‘God, it’s hard. Hard for me, too.’

And I know then that he’s telling the truth. I open my eyes and stare into his. He looks like a little boy. He looks like I feel: emotionally wrecked.

‘You’re OK, then. That’s good,’ he nods. He looks as if he’s about to turn away.

‘Edward,’ I whisper.

He turns back to face me.

‘Don’t go. Please stay. Just for a minute,’ I beg him, and then I grab him and pull him inside the door. He doesn’t resist.

As the door shuts, he’s already folding me into a frantic hug, as if we’ve been reunited after months apart. Not hours.