But now she was different. Deceived, betrayed, hidden; she was the kind of person who made choices unhampered by unearned loyalty. She’d made James her lover and, today, under the guise of taking a walk in the sunshine, she’d called him for the comfort of hearing his voice as she tramped the matted verges, whilst Bryony recovered from her storm of weeping in a hot bath.
James’s voice had been deep and warm and full of pleasure. ‘When can we be together?’
‘Bryony’s home.’ But she couldn’t resist adding, ‘Though I’m planning to go to Cambridge on Wednesday.’
‘I’ll clear my diary. I’ll drive you. I want you.’ His voice was dark and rough, making the hair on the nape of her neck stand up.
I want yousent her giddy; images of them in the back of his car flashing across her mind. The heat, the laughter, the stroking of his hands. ‘I’ll meet you there because I’ll have my car packed with sample garments. I’m seeing a woman who owns a boutique.’
‘Pity. I love having you in my car,’ he said, deadpan.
Her laughter rose up into the sunshine, above the country lane. It was almost an hour before she’d ended the call, hot with joy at the prospect of a few hours with him. She’d hugged the thought to her ever since, dreaming off into space whenever she had five minutes.
‘The most important thing,’ Gareth was saying, reclaiming Diane’s attention, ‘is that I’ve ended things with Stella.’ His pause was heavy with significance.
Diane raised her eyebrows. ‘It’s wonderful how many people do end their affair the instant it becomes untenable to continue.’
He managed to look injured. ‘You don’t think I’m ending it just because I’ve been found out?’
‘Yes.’
‘It’s not like that. You’re not looking at it from the right angle. I never realised how much I might hurt you until I saw how it made you feel to discover –’
‘It made me bloody angry,’ Diane interrupted, dispassionately, deciding that now would not be a good time to leap onto her high horse about fidelity. ‘Whathurtwas that you hid me from your new, wealthy, desirable family and luxuriated alone in your lovely cottage.’ She jumped up and prowled to the window to gaze out of the window at the lawns, conscious of having to inhale the sweetish disinfectant smell of hospitals instead of fresh cut grass. ‘But none of it’s particularly important at the moment.’
‘Of course it’s important.’ Gareth sounded peevish. He shifted on the bed, pinned by the paraphernalia of his injuries. ‘I realise that I acted badly. Like a child that’s had too many presents on Christmas Day and doesn’t want to share. I realise, Irealise.
‘But now it’s all out in the open I feel relieved. You were right – I was paying you back for what happened over your dad’s will.’ His voice dropped. ‘We can start again, move to a nicer place. You can give up your dressmaking.’
Slowly, Diane returned to her seat. Gareth held out his good hand to her but she pretended not to notice. ‘Gareth, you’re insulting my intelligence with this sudden munificence. All that’s important about the money is what it’s made you become. You’re only beating your chest in case I make you share your horrible filthy bank balance.
‘But I can’t worry about what’s left of our marriage right now. I came here to tell you what Bryony told me this morning – because, believe it or not there are things more important than money. Even your money.’
She paused to give him a moment to refocus, to switch his mind to his daughter. ‘Gareth, Bryony’s pregnant. She doesn’t think she’ll be seeing the father again, and she needs both of us on her side for a while. So let’s worry about that, rather than balancing the scales of retribution.
‘That’s what I came to tell you,’ she continued unemotionally, though she saw the colour had drained from his face. ‘The father’s name is Inacio, he’s a Brazilian that Bryony saw for a few weeks. He’s about 27 and, apparently, is “well fit, with black eyes that send you funny”. She fell hard for him. She thought it was the start of something. But he stopped phoning and when she called his mobile he was offhand.
‘It took her a few weeks to realise that she was pregnant. Then somebody told her that Inacio’s married.’
Gareth drank from his spouted cup before he spoke again. ‘Bastard!’ he hissed, a clammy sweat of fury on his forehead. ‘Wait till I get my hands on him, that shit –’ He halted, glancing down at himself, pinned together like a mannequin, plastered into immobility, muscles wasting with disuse. ‘What’s she going to do?’
Diane sat back with a sigh. ‘She won’t contemplate abortion and I think she’s possibly too far on, anyway.’
‘Will she keep it?’
‘I think so. I’ve made her an appointment with Dr Cooke tomorrow. She’ll need to have a check up and be put into whatever the programme is now for pregnant women. Tests and scans.’Pregnant women. It was only a minute since she’d been her little girl, with merry dark eyes and a giggle that rang out like a xylophone.
‘Is she all right, do you think? She wasn’t herself yesterday but I put it down to tiredness.’ His voice was gruff.
Diane nodded. ‘Anxious, of course, and shocked. But she seems healthy.’
‘I must see her, talk to her. I feel so helpless lying here.’
‘I’ll bring her tomorrow afternoon. She’ll be living with us for the foreseeable future, I think. There’s the money for you to give her a car now, isn’t there? It’s murder living in Purtenon St. Paul without one.’
His face flooded with colour. ‘I’ll arrange to have some transferred to you –’
‘Arrange it with her,’ she said, flatly.
