‘Yeah. It’s been good.’
‘Good? Just good? Not great?’
‘Yeah. Some of it was great. But you know how it is. When couples are in love, everything is rosy. Even bad sex. But when it’s just about sex, the expectations are so much higher, don’t you think? Or maybe that’s just me.’
‘Are you saying you have complaints about my performance?’
‘No! Well. Not complaints, exactly.’
‘But you feel I could improve in some way?’
‘We can all improve, Sam. No one is perfect. Don’t worry though. I’m not keeping score. And after Friday, we’ll be going our separate ways. Probably for another ten years. Or so.’
He dropped his slice of toast and pulled me into his arms, staring directly into my eyes.
‘Tell me what I can do to make the sex the best you’ve ever had. Tell me what you need.’
‘Oh. Erm. I’m not really sure. I mean, it’s been great. Don’t get me wrong. But I have felt, on occasion, that something has been … lacking. But perhaps that’s how it always feels unless the participants are truly in love.’
‘Then … what are you saying? That to make the sex fantastic we’d need to be in love?’ Or to believe we are?’
‘Hmm. I’m not sure. But yes. I think being in love with the person you’re having sex with definitely helps. It is called, making love after all. Obviously, we’re not in love, are we? So I suppose the sex we’ve been having is the best it is going to get. Ah well. C’est la vie, and all that. What would you like to eat?’ I eased myself out of his embrace.
‘Eat? Sorry? What? When?’
‘On Valentine’s Day, Sam.’
‘Oh. I don’t really care.’
‘No. And that’s probably why the sex isn’t as great as it could be, if you did. The snow’s almost melted, so I’m going to venture out to the shops.’
I knew Sam would come after me, and he did.
‘Are you saying you think things could be better between us, sexually, I mean?’
‘Uh-huh. Don’t you?’
He fell into step beside me. ‘I didn’t. No. But maybe now I do. What do you suggest we do to … improve things? I thought it was … pretty fantastic.’
‘Yes. Men always do. Women, you’ll find, have higher expectations.’
‘You’re saying you expected more from me? What more could I do?’
‘I don’t know, Sam. Maybe, get in touch with your feelings, or something. Or pretend you’re in love with me. Truly in love with me. Perhaps that might help. I’ll leave that up to you.’
He stopped in his tracks and I knew his jaw had dropped open because I took a surreptitious glance at him as I walked away, taking extra care not to slip on the remaining snow and ice.
Twenty-two
Iawoke to sunshine on Friday morning – Valentine’s Day – and to breakfast in bed, consisting of a glass of champagne, freshly squeezed orange juice, poached eggs, mushrooms, bacon, and tomatoes, together with toast and marmalade, delivered on a faux silver tray, with a single red rose in a bud vase, a card, and a beautifully wrapped gift. Sam had gone above and beyond, and for one brief moment, when he smiled at me and bent down to kiss me, I actually believed he loved me.
‘This is a first for me,’ he said, ‘so I hope it’s okay. I need to pop into town to my showroom this morning, but I’ll be back as soon as I can and we’ll do something special. It’s a beautiful day, so maybe we could go for a ride, or something? Anyway, enjoy your breakfast and I’ll see you soon.’
‘Thank you,’ I called after him. ‘I’ll give you your card and present later then, shall I?’
‘Yeah,’ he called back. ‘That’s fine.’
Well this was a great start to Valentine’s Day. The breakfast in bed was lovely, but surely he could’ve stayed and enjoyed it with me?
