The Marrying Game (43 page)

Rufa smiled. ‘He makes far too much fuss. But I don’t think I can quite handle driving.’

He took the keys from her and opened the passenger door. In the car, he tilted her seat back a few inches. She clipped in her seat belt. Her eyes slid shut. Inside her head, she saw lighted trees, fairies in glinting spangles,
bewildered
lovers falling thankfully into each other’s arms. The warm dream of a midsummer night.

She woke up to a fuzzy awareness that the car had stopped, and that Tristan was gently shaking her shoulder.

‘Rufa –’

‘Mmm – what?’ Blinking, Rufa registered that they were in a car park, outside a motorway service station. ‘Where are we? Oh God, I was asleep –’

‘I’m so sorry to wake you, I’d love to have let you sleep all the way home, but – guess what – I have to pee again, and I can’t leave you alone here.’

Rufa unfastened her belt and opened the door. ‘Let’s go in, then.’

The place was glaring and brutal; stretches of concrete, cruelly lit. Her dream evaporated. She felt bruised and tender.

Tristan took her hand, leading her through the long lines of cars. They agreed to meet outside the restaurant in ten minutes. Rufa went into the ladies. On the back of her cubicle door, someone had scrawled: ‘Romance suks, forplay is when he asks your name first!!’ Reality mocked her. She studied herself in the long, unforgiving strip of mirror over the sinks. Her face looked pale and frowsty, she thought. There was a red patch on one cheek, where it had pressed on the seat while she slept. She splashed cold water, forcing herself to snap out of her light-headed state.

Tristan was waiting outside the restaurant. ‘I’ve just realized that I’m ferociously hungry. We forgot to have anything to eat.’

‘So we did.’ She looked at her watch, and laughed. ‘We really have been away with the fairies. It’s nearly midnight.’

‘It was brilliant, though, wasn’t it?’

‘Haven’t I said so?’ Rufa was dazed. Since they left the theatre, they had been communicating with such draining intensity that she had virtually passed out. But they had not, apparently, had a proper conversation. ‘It was gorgeous beyond words. I almost cried when it was over.’

His face was close to hers. ‘You did cry. I saw a tear come out of your left eye, the eye nearest to me.’

‘All right, I did cry.’ Rufa smiled. ‘I’ll get some sandwiches – the hot food in these places always seems rather sinister.’ She sensed that he had been about to say something else about her eyes, and this could not be allowed. The day was over. She now had a duty to return to the old boundaries. They seemed suddenly safe and comfortable, and she had a giddy moment of intensely missing Edward.

He was bewildered for a moment, as if thrown off course. Then he smiled back at her cheerfully. They bought damp cheese sandwiches and carried them back to the car, talking amiably and quite normally about the production.

‘I’m completely awake now,’ Rufa said. ‘I’ll take over the driving, if you like.’

‘No. You’re far too tired – you’d crash, or something. And anyway, I positively enjoy driving this car. It makes me feel such a grown-up.’

For the moment, the deflecting had worked. On the road, Rufa passed Tristan pieces of sandwich. Their conversation was bright and aimless. It faltered, and finally
petered
out altogether, after the car had turned off the motorway. They drove through the hot, sleeping lanes and black hedgerows. Rufa’s heart was beating hard. She could hear the blood thrumming in her ears. The tension between them tightened as Tristan carefully manoeuvred the car along the unmade road to the farmhouse.

She climbed out as quickly as possible, before the engine had stopped humming, and went to open the front door. It seemed years since they had left. The solid sameness of the house – yesterday’s post still on the hall table, yesterday’s vase of Michaelmas daisies still fresh – helped her to wrestle back some self-control.

Outside, the car door slammed, the electric lock cheeped. Rufa hurried along the passage to the kitchen, switching on all the lights. Her hands were shaking and clumsy. She filled the kettle and plugged it in, frantic to look casual and ordinary when Tristan came in.

He stood in the doorway, staring. She stared back, mesmerized. It was too late. He could not be stopped. Slowly, never taking his eyes from hers, he went across to her and took her in his arms.

A great pang of longing shuddered through her. His warm lips gently met hers, and when their mouths locked together the delight was so intense, she almost came. Alarmed, she pulled away from him.

‘I can’t,’ she said.

His arms tightened round her waist. ‘My darling.’ He bent his head to kiss her again.

Rufa broke free, with some force. She retreated to the other side of the room. They stared at each other in shocked silence, both breathing heavily. Tristan covered his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes were wide with astonishment.

‘No. Sorry,’ Rufa said. She was trembling fiercely. ‘I’m very sorry. But you know I can’t.’

‘Why not? What have I done?’

‘For God’s sake.’ Rufa was bewildered. ‘I was talking about Edward. I’m married – for God’s sake – there’s no question of my –’

‘But what have we been doing all day?’

Rufa was angry. She refused to countenance any suggestion that she had already committed adultery. ‘Shopping with my sister, and going to the theatre.’

Tristan’s own bewilderment was hardening into anger. She had never seen him angry. He looked bigger and stronger and harder – and also younger.

‘You know it was more than that,’ he said. ‘You’ve been sending out the signals all day. That was the whole point of getting shot of Lydia and going to the theatre. You were telling me it was going to happen.’

‘I didn’t tell you anything of the kind,’ Rufa said. Being angry with Tristan made it easier to resist him, and to call up her love for Edward. Because she did love Edward – even though he did not seem to want her. Without him, the darkness would engulf her. ‘You’ve imagined the whole thing, without bothering to ask me how I feel. Don’t you think I love my husband? This is his house, for God’s sake. Do you really think I’m the type to cheat on him the minute his back’s turned? Is that the kind of woman you think I am?’ Her outrage was genuine. She was appalled by the kind of woman she had nearly become.

‘No, of course not.’ Once more Tristan was bewildered, wondering if he could possibly have imagined the momentary strength of Rufa’s kiss just now. ‘Rufa, I’m sorry – I’m really sorry if I was wrong.
But
this isn’t just about sex.’ He bounded across the room to seize her hand. ‘Don’t be angry with me, I can’t stand it. I wouldn’t have touched you if I thought you didn’t know. God, Rufa, I’m so in love with you it hurts.’

It was no use. She was powerless. The pain in his eyes melted her. She felt one more pang of hurt that she had never heard these words from Edward.

She said, ‘I did know.’

‘I didn’t come here thinking I could sleep with Edward’s wife. I came here thinking it would be good to see Edward – besides which, I had nowhere else to go that didn’t cost money. I imagined Edward’s wife would be some farming type in her forties.’ He reddened. The confession poured out of him. ‘I nearly keeled over when I saw you. I couldn’t believe you were so beautiful. I wouldn’t have dared to even dream about touching you. But you’ve been such an angel to me. You’re so sweet, so wise –’

‘Don’t –’

He would not release her hand. ‘Hundreds of times I’ve wanted to fling myself on the ground and beg you to love me. I didn’t know falling in love could ever hurt as much as this.’ His clear eyes were swimming with tears. ‘Sometimes, I’ve felt I’d die for a smile from you. I’ll go mad if you say you don’t feel anything for me.’

Two hot tears scalded Rufa’s cheeks. She reached up to touch his hair. ‘There wouldn’t be any point in lying about it. Of course I feel something for you. But it’s totally against my will, and I have to fight it.’

‘You’re going to say it’s your duty, or something,’ he said sadly.

‘I don’t think you know what duty means. You think
it
has nothing to do with love. But it’s actually all about love – that’s the whole point. And when I say I love Edward, it doesn’t sound nearly big enough for what I mean. It’s not just a matter of liking him a lot. He’s everything that holds me together. If I ever forget that—’

‘But he’s not here,’ Tristan murmured urgently. ‘If we made love, how would he know? He’d never find out, and you wouldn’t have to tell him. Please, Rufa –’ He pressed her hand into his groin, against his erection. ‘Please – please, or I’ll die of wanting you –’

Rufa whipped her hand away. He was begging her for illicit sex, in the house of her husband. The picture veered round to another angle, and the romantic idyll suddenly appeared shameful and sordid. Tristan seemed to think that because she had lost her heart to him – quite against her will – she owed him something. If he was so madly in love with her, why could he not see the dreadful situation from her point of view?

‘Tristan, I’m sorry,’ she said, with more firmness than she had found all day. ‘You picked the wrong woman to fall in love with.’

He frowned. ‘You’re just too cowardly to admit what’s happened. This isn’t a nothing event – this isn’t just some little crush I’ll get over. I’ll never get over you.’

‘You will if we don’t take it any further,’ Rufa said. ‘We’d better forget this.’

‘No!’ It came out as a shout, and startled them both. Tristan was deeply wounded, and the pain made him furious. ‘You can’t just tell me to forget it. I’ve given you power over my whole life. You refuse to see how important it is, because you’re so scared of screwing up
your
nice, comfy house, and all those sacks of money –’

‘How bloody dare you talk to me about the money?’ Rufa screamed. The mention of Edward’s money dissolved reality, and lashed her into rage. ‘Oh, you bloody well worship me when you think everything’s going your way – but the minute you don’t get what you want, you accuse me of only wanting Edward’s bloody money!’

‘Well, are you telling me you didn’t? Come on, Rufa. Stop playing games.’

‘This isn’t a game. Why won’t you believe me when I say I love him?’

Tristan shook with anger. The tears jumped and sizzled on his lashes like sparks. ‘If you really loved him, you’d sleep with him.’

Rufa whispered, ‘Who— what the hell are you talking about?’

They were both very still. Tristan was almost afraid to look into her white, anguished face, but he was still angry enough to blurt out, ‘Prudence told me. She said she asked Edward what was wrong, because she knew something was on his mind, and he told her you don’t have sex. And frankly, it’s the only thing that’s been keeping me sane – I mean, I like Edward, and all that. But if I’d had to think of you having sex with him, I’d have killed myself.’

Rufa leaned against the kitchen table. She felt as if a great fist had punched into all the assumptions of her life, shattering it to fragments. Edward had betrayed her. He had discussed their deepest, darkest secret with – of all people – Prudence. The darkness swirled, inches from her front door. It would be easy to die now, if it meant not feeling this pain.

‘She was lying. It’s not true.’

‘No – you’re the one who’s telling lies. You’re living in one. Your entire life is one, enormous lie.’ Tristan was crying and burning; battering her with his fury.

‘It’s not true. Please – you don’t understand –’

‘You know what the irony of this is?’ he demanded. ‘I might have been able to protect myself from you, if I’d paid more attention to Edward. He more or less told me the truth, and I wouldn’t listen.’

‘Truth? What—’

‘Why do you think he asked me to stay here with you? Why do you think he insured me to drive the car, and all that shit? He doesn’t think you’re fit to take care of yourself. Until I came along, you were one step away from falling apart.’

‘Get out!’ Rufa shrieked. She did not recognize her own demonic voice, dredged up from the soles of her feet. ‘Get out! Get out!’

‘And why do you think they had that row in Paris? Did he tell you he’s been Prudence’s lover for fucking years and years? I mean, why d’you think she can’t make her marriages last more than five minutes? I’d say she had a right to be burned up about you – if he’d married anyone, it should have been her!’

‘Get out!’

Tristan dragged the sleeve of his shirt across his face. ‘Oh, I’m fucking going.’

‘Leave me alone!’

‘You’ve destroyed my life. I hope you’re satisfied, you frigid bitch.’ He pushed past her roughly. The front door slammed with such force that a pane of glass fell from the back door and shattered on the kitchen floor. Rufa heard Edward’s car hurtling away down the track.

Then the sound was blotted out by the roar of the silence. She stood listening, absolutely still. The terrible anger had passed. She felt giddy, and slightly sick. Tristan had gone. She had lost him, and she loved him more than she loved anyone on earth. He loved her, and she had thrown his love away.

She had resisted for Edward’s sake, and Edward thought she was a basket case. How could he, how could he discuss their marriage with Prudence? Why, when he could apparently chat about their non-existent sex life over lunch with that beady old cow, could he never mention it to Rufa? Because Edward and Prudence were lovers, of course. Successful lovers, who went back years and years. For all she knew, he was carrying on those cosy chats in phone calls from The Hague – when he only phoned her to check that she was still holding together. He thought of his young wife as a liability, a mistake. Perhaps he had told Prudence about the nightmares. Why not? She had been stupid to imagine he would not confide in someone about the barrenness of their life together. Tristan was right, the two of them were living out a huge, outrageous lie.