The Secrets Women Keep (34 page)

‘Not now, though?’ She gestured at the party around them. ‘We’ve got the rest of the weekend.’

But the drink had given him courage. She could see it in his eyes. He had chosen his moment and he was determined to have it.

‘Come into the garden, somewhere quiet – just for a minute.’ He took her hand and guided her out of the marquee.

‘Terry! What are you doing? We can’t leave the party now.’

‘It won’t take long, and anyway no one will notice. This way.’ He led her through the bushes towards the secluded stone folly on the opposite side of the hotel. A mini
Graeco-Roman temple, built many years ago on a whim of his grandfather, its fluted pillars and domed roof coupled with the palm trees now silhouettes at its side giving the impression of being
somewhere in the Mediterranean. Away from the more formal garden, the ground was rockier, with clumps of thrift and little white daisies pushing up where they could. In the distance, Eve could hear
the crash of the waves on the rocks. High tide.

‘We haven’t been here for a long time.’ The single spotlight outside dimly illuminated the interior. Terry was brushing the seat with his hand. Then, with a flourish, he
gestured that she should sit down.

Wishing she was wearing something warmer, she took her seat, and waited for him to begin.

B
y the time Rose reached the bar, Simon was ensconced in a corner, in one of the large armchairs angled towards the window. From there he had a
view of the marquee, but also, beyond the clifftop, of the inky darkness over the sea, sporadically lit by the moon. She could just see the top of his head, heard the sound of his glass hitting the
glass tabletop, the page of a magazine turning. He was alone, apart from the barman, who had taken a stool behind the bar and was absorbed in a well-thumbed paperback.

Nervous but determined, buoyed up by her rage, she cleared her throat.

Startled, Simon peered around the wing of his chair. His face lit up when he registered who was there.

‘Rose! I’d given up trying to talk to you. You’ve been so busy. If I were paranoid, I’d say you’d been deliberately avoiding me.’ He laughed easily, confident
that couldn’t be the case. ‘The dress looks great, especially with those shoes. Are they new?’ He didn’t wait for her reply. ‘Can I get you a drink?’ He lifted a
finger to hail a non-existent waiter, then realised and lowered it.

‘I’ll get my own, thanks.’

She didn’t miss his look of bewilderment at the animosity in her voice.

‘Have I done something? I think you should tell me if I have.’ But not really believing that whatever it was could be anything serious, he half returned his attention to his
reading.

She didn’t grace him with a reply. Now that the moment of confrontation had arrived, she was experiencing a sudden loss of nerve. Asking for the truth would make her conclusions real. And
just suppose she had got it all completely wrong. The hope, however faint, that she might have paralysed her. If that was the case, her new and, until now, precious friendship with Simon would be
ruined for ever. But if he was responsible for her last terrible days with Daniel, then she owed it to herself.
Miss. Love. Come back
.

Her silence unnerved him. ‘Rose. For God’s sake, what’s wrong?’ He threw down the magazine and twisted his body so he leaned round over the arm of the chair, expecting
her to answer.

But Rose didn’t reply as she walked over and sat down to face him, her back to the window. Her mouth was dry. She ran her tongue round her teeth and swallowed, as she prepared to speak.
She saw him in a new light now – this impeccable, handsome younger man who had drawn Daniel into his orbit. Daniel had always been easily flattered by the interest of someone younger, someone
good-looking, particularly if they had the added bonus of being urbane and intelligent. Simon leaned towards her, his brow furrowed as he tried to work out the reason for this sudden unprovoked
hostility.

She waited, wishing the nausea would leave her, as the barman brought over her Perrier and carefully orientated a place mat so the illustration of the hotel faced the right way. He seemed to
take an age to get it precisely right. Then at last he left them. Simon raised an eyebrow, inviting an explanation.

‘How could you?’ She was surprised to hear the toughness in her voice as her resolve returned.

A look of puzzlement crossed his face. ‘How could I what?’ he asked. He clearly hadn’t a clue what she was talking about. ‘Rose, what’s this all about? Put me out
of my misery, please. What am I meant to have done?’ He gave the small smile that until now had bonded them.

But there was something in that smile that she saw now for the first time: a reliable winning charm that infuriated her. Any remaining reserve vanished as everything that she wanted to say
clamoured to be let out.

‘First of all,’ she began, doing her best to keep her voice level, ‘I want you to explain why you’ve abused the trust of our family. What kind of a person does something
like that?’ She heard her voice catch. Praying he hadn’t noticed, she bit the inside of her lip until the pain focused her. ‘You disgust me. I can hardly bear to sit here with
you.’

‘What are you talking about?’ He stretched both hands out in appeal, his frown deepening. ‘I still don’t understand. I thought we were friends.’

‘So did I, and that’s what hurts.’ If he thought that pretending ignorance – if that was what he
was
doing – was the way to convince her, she would show him
how very wrong he was.

This time he said nothing. He looked to the ceiling before crossing his legs. He tilted his foot and examined his shoe, which gleamed under the light. Rose waited. He shifted in his seat,
uncomfortable under her fierce inspection, then raised his face to look at her. His head to one side, his eyes finally met hers. She could see only bafflement there. Either she had made a terrible
mistake, or he must be supremely confident in the safety of his secret. She needed to be more direct.

‘I know, Simon.’ She refused to look away, and was rewarded by the sudden unease that crossed his face. Her hands were clasped so tightly together they hurt. ‘I know,’
she repeated, twisting her wedding ring round her finger.

‘Know what?’ He drained his whisky and uncrossed his legs as if he was going to get up and walk away. Then he hesitated. His expression changed again, as disbelief then alarm were
superseded by self-confidence. That look said she couldn’t possibly have found out. Not possibly.

Rose read each emotion, each thought, as clearly as if he’d spoken them.

‘I still haven’t a bloody clue what you’re talking about,’ he protested, but less insistently than before.

That reaction was enough to spur her on. She was fighting him for her marriage and needed the truth, however much it hurt.

‘I know about you and Daniel.’ Her voice was little more than a whisper, but the effect of her words was instantaneous.

He jerked backwards. His face paled to the colour of parchment. He swallowed, darting his eyes round the room, looking anywhere but at her. But he wasn’t beaten yet. He recovered himself
quickly. ‘
What
about us? You’re talking in riddles, Rose.’ He sounded self-assured, even aggressive, as he challenged her to confront him, to accuse him out loud, to say
the unimaginable. But Rose wasn’t going back down now.

‘Did you love him?’ she asked, dreading the answer.

He stood up abruptly, knocking the drinks table with his leg, and went to the window. His reflection stared back at them both from the darkness beyond, gaunt and frightened. ‘That’s
a preposterous question.’ But his voice was tired. The game was up.

‘Did you love him?’ she repeated. ‘You might as well tell me, Simon. You see, I found the libretto. He’d written in it. I’ve worked it all out. You gave me
Daniel’s ticket to the opera, didn’t you?’

He nodded his head, just once, capitulating at last. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Yes. If you must know. I did.’

Rose’s pulse was beating like a jackhammer. She took a sip of water.

‘Did he love you?’ How asking that question hurt. But it was the one to which she most needed an answer. Without that knowledge, she couldn’t go on.

This time, he turned to her. ‘I think I need another drink for this. You?’

She nodded her assent, grateful for a moment to prepare herself for his reply. Having reached this point, a strange calm had settled over her. Simon crossed to the bar, ordered from the barman,
then returned and sat down with two whiskies. He slid one across to her, keeping his gaze down. This time, whether from shame or anger, he couldn’t meet her eye.

‘Well, did he?’ she insisted. ‘Love you, I mean.’

At last he raised his head, but his eyes had a faraway look in them, as if he was remembering another time. Rose was shocked by the sadness and longing that she saw there. He shook his head,
refocusing his gaze on her. For a moment, he pressed his lips together as if he wasn’t going to speak. Then he thought better.

‘No,’ he said, briefly closing his eyes as if in pain. ‘No, I don’t think he did.’

Rose’s thoughts were racing. So everything she had most feared was true. Daniel had had an affair. But with Simon. With a man. She still didn’t know whether that made it better or
worse, but at least she didn’t have to live any longer in the aching ignorance of his lover’s identity. Simon really
was
‘S’. And perhaps he was telling the truth.
Perhaps Daniel really hadn’t loved him. She wanted to believe that more than anything. Nothing she had found had proved otherwise. Whatever she felt, with her new knowledge came an unexpected
sense of relief as everything about her terrible last days with Daniel fell into place for the first time. Of course he hadn’t confessed to her. Now she understood a little better what had
happened between them. He must have been terrified of her reaction. Ashamed too, perhaps. Other than her shock and disbelief, he would have foreseen her anger, the crucifying self-doubt and the
pain he would inflict. But if Daniel hadn’t reciprocated Simon’s feelings, then perhaps he had never stopped loving her. Perhaps that was what he meant when he’d said
‘It’s not what you think’: words she had puzzled over since.

‘I think you’d better tell me everything, don’t you?’ The anger she’d felt before knotted in her throat, tight and controlled. To think she had liked this man,
trusted him, had even entertained ideas of there being more to their relationship one day than mere friendship. The thought made her skin crawl.

‘I don’t know where to start.’ He sounded utterly defeated, so broken that, for a brief moment, Rose almost pitied him. But any sympathy left her as quickly as it had come.

‘At the beginning, I think. Let’s start with where you met.’

‘Must we do this now?’ He gestured towards the party that was in full swing outside. Various partygoers entered and exited the marquee. The group of smokers she’d watched had
begun dancing on the grass. The fairy lights bobbed in the trees.

‘Yes,’ she said firmly. However much she’d prefer to be out there with her family, getting this over was way more important to her right now. ‘We won’t be seeing
each other again after tonight.’

He shook his head, took a sip of his whisky, then a deep breath, and began. ‘It was through Michael Heston, owner of the Courthouse Hotel in Edinburgh. He’s an old friend of mine.
I’d redesigned the hotel for him when he bought it. He introduced me to Daniel at the opening, knowing he was looking for an architect to renovate the Arthur. We met to discuss his ideas and
I went to see the place for myself. We had a lot in common. But you don’t need to know all that . . .’ He broke off.

Perhaps she didn’t, but if she was to understand Daniel and their marriage then she had to. Without that understanding, she wouldn’t be able to move on. She took one of the cushions
from behind her and hugged it to her stomach. ‘I do,’ she said.

‘Then you need to know that I was married too. Some years ago.’

She failed to hide her gasp of surprise.

‘Only briefly,’ he qualified, looking away from her as he went on, talking quickly as if to get it over with. ‘Jackie and I met at school, stayed together and married partway
through my degree. Looking back, I knew deep down that I was gay but was too scared to acknowledge it. My family, especially my father, would have been horrified. He was a small-minded bigot, a
local bank manager and upstanding pillar of the community where I grew up: a big fish in a small local pond where everything functioned as it should. Nothing out of the ordinary tolerated, unless
behind tightly drawn curtains and locked doors.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘And as it turned out, I was right. I believed that I loved Jackie. I really did. But subconsciously, I suppose I
must have been hoping that by marrying her, she would somehow save me from myself. And of course she couldn’t. That was a terrible thing to do to anyone.’ He lifted his glass to his
lips and swallowed. ‘After only a couple of years, I couldn’t pretend any longer. I met someone – a man who . . .’ He stopped. ‘Again, the detail’s not
important. But I couldn’t deny who I really was any more. The whole story came out. Jackie and I divorced. You can imagine how the local gossips loved it, as well as the public humiliation
and shame felt by my father.’

‘Did you have any children?’ Rose asked, absorbed in his story despite herself, almost forgetting the reason for his telling it.

He gave a short laugh. ‘No. Thank God. That would have made everything even worse. Hurting her like that was bad enough. Her family, too. Predictably, my father disowned me, and my mother,
who was devoted to him, followed suit. They had to, to save face. At least that’s how they saw it. However much she loved me, her marriage to him came first. I understand that better now than
I did then.’ He paused, giving them both time to remember Daniel. ‘My brother tried to keep the channels of communication open, but it was quickly made plain to him that he would
receive the same treatment if he persevered. He’s a weak man, who still lived there and was part of the same community. He didn’t want any trouble. So that was that.’