Dimly lit and scented with Richard’s aftershave, the space was immediately comforting. The sight of his leather holdall beside the bed lit her heart – if his bag were here, it meant he would be here sooner or later. Beside it was a pile of magazines, that book,The Catcher in the Rye,still unread.
She sat on the bed, remembering the naïve, mousy girl she’d been all those months ago. How much she’d grown! Yet instead of holding her chin up, she found herself slumping back onto the bed, curling into the same position as before, trying to recapture an essence of who she’d been – maybe even trying to turn back time itself, make everything different.
It had been difficult to set aside Miranda’s words, her dislike of Richard. But Miranda was, after all, a bit of an oddball. Didn’t she find most men objectionable? The fact that Richard was married could betrue. He’d never actually denied being married, had he? His wife was probably one of those dull upper-class ladies who never liked any fun. It was no wonder he needed a special friend like Lucy.
However, there was one growing concern that she wasn’t able to overlook.
The increasing worry that she might be pregnant.
At first, she’d shoved it to the back of her mind, but after a few weeks, the slight changes to her body started to show, her stomach upset for most of the day.
She knew Richard wouldn’t be happy about the pregnancy.
Especially since he was married.
If she were honest, that’s why Miranda’s news about Richard’s wife had shifted the rug from underneath her. Something inside her – something so naïve she could barely admit it even to herself – had imagined he would want their child, that he would marry her.
However, in this new light, she felt silly, the country girl caught out.
The sound of the door made her stir, and she sat up to see Richard, who glanced at her quickly before retreating into the corridor, the sound of muffled voices indicating that he was speaking to someone else. It was probably Morris, she thought to herself, and she blushed hotly at what he must think of her.
Maybe she shouldn’t have come.
But now she heard Morris walk away, Richard hovering outside the door.
Did he need to think about what he would say to her?
Did he even want her there?
After a moment or two, the door opened, and in he came, the smile on his face a little worn as he sat beside her on the bed. ‘What are you doing here, darling? Isn’t it too risky for you to be here at this time of day?’
‘I thought you’d be pleased to find me here. I wanted to see you, to talk.’
But he got up, turned to the desk. ‘Unfortunately, I don’t have much time today, darling.’ Something about his tone wasn’t as congenial as usual. He strode to the drinks cabinet and poured two Scotches,handing her one. ‘But don’t despair, I have a lovely adventure coming up for you. Another member of the Lunch Club has connections with the Festival Hall, no less.’ He raised his eyebrows tantalizingly, as if it were an exciting opportunity.
But something inside Lucy deflated. Would it be just another man to seduce her?
She took a gulp of whisky. ‘Did you hear from Metcalf? He said he would introduce me to a producer, get me some auditions.’
‘I’m sure he’ll look into it. I gave you the money from him, didn’t I?’ He felt for his wallet, probably a natural reaction.
Lucy nodded, thinking of her new blue shoes, gloves and handbag to go with the dress that wouldn’t fit for much longer.
But Richard opened his wallet and folded a note into one hand, then reached forward to tuck it into the pocket of her dress. ‘And here’s a little extra from me.’
Suddenly, she wanted to take it out, throw it at him, explain that she wasn’t there for the money. Weren’t they friends,specialfriends?
But she knew she had to tread carefully. ‘There’s something else I need to tell you.’
He looked up, eyebrows raised, happy to help, and she knew this could be the last cordial moment they had together before the truth came crashing down.
‘I’m pregnant.’ The words, now loose in the room, hovered between them as she watched his face slowly absorb the information.
When he spoke, his voice was calm, measured. ‘I thought you said that you had that covered?’ He leaned back into the sofa, making himself at home. Yet by doing so, he was distancing himself from her, letting her carry the seriousness of the situation while he remained nonchalant.
‘I don’t think I understood what you meant.’ She took another sip of Scotch only to find her glass empty.
He didn’t refill it.
