Where There's Smoke

CHAPTER 12

The letter from the clinic arrived on a February morning when the rain lashed against the windows and daylight was a grudging, sepia non-event. Kate knew what it would be, but that didn’t make her any less nervous as she slit open the envelope, crested with the hospital’s logo, and took out the letter.

Alex’s final blood test, taken six months after his last donation, was clear. The clinic asked her to contact them so that they could make arrangements for her first treatment.

Kate set down the letter on the breakfast bar. She didn’t realise she was staring into space until the toast popped up, making her jump. Ignoring it, she went to her bag in the hallway and took out her diary. She had been keeping a temperature chart and testing her urine every day to time her menstrual cycle. It was so regular that she didn’t really need to check when she was next due to ovulate, but she did all the same. It was just over two weeks.

Kate went back into the kitchen and absently spread sunflower margarine on the toast. It had gone cold, and the first bite clogged in her mouth. She washed it down with tea and dropped the rest of her breakfast into the bin.

Although she wasn’t supposed to make her appointment for the first treatment until her period had actually started, she couldn’t wait. She called the clinic as soon as she arrived at work. The receptionist, polite, with only the barest trace of Birmingham in her voice, booked her in for a little over a fortnight’s time and told Kate to telephone the day before to confirm. It was curiously undramatic, almost like making a dental appointment. The excitement was there, a taut anticipation, like sitting in a plane as it gathered speed to take off. But the knowledge of what she had to do first overlay any pleasure she felt.

She had continued to see Alex after Christmas, accepting the apology he had made on Boxing Day, a stammered account of over-indulgence and indigestion. She had even managed to convince herself that she had narrowly avoided a stupid mistake. But she had deliberately begun to tail off the number of times they met, preparing herself for the moment she now faced. It didn’t make it any easier.

Kate didn’t phone him until that evening, feeling a sneaking relief that he had asked her not to ring him at work. His phone rang on, monotonously, and she was about to hang up when he answered.

“Yes?” He sounded breathless, as though he had run to get to it.

“It’s Kate, Alex.”

“Oh, hi! I wasn’t expecting you to call tonight.”

She steeled herself against the pleasure in his voice. “I’ve heard from the clinic. Your final blood tests are okay.”

“That’s great! I knew they would be, but … well, you know.” He laughed, happy. “So you can go ahead now?”

“Yes. The thing is …” She shut her eyes. “I don’t think we should see each other any more.”

There was a pause. “Oh.”

“It isn’t anything personal. But we always knew this was going to happen some time, and — and I think now’s the time to do it. It’s only going to complicate things if we don’t, and I don’t think that’ll do either of us any good. Or the baby.”

The words sounded false. “It’s for the best … You can see that, can’t you?”

It was almost a plea. “Uh … yeah, yes, I …” She heard him clear his throat. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.”

“I don’t want you to think I’m not grateful for what you’ve done,” she said, knowing she was only making things worse, but unable to stop. “I’ll send you a cheque for the rest of the money I owe you, and — “

“No!”

The word was spat out. Kate recoiled from the heat in it.

“No,” he repeated, more calmly. “I told you I didn’t want paying.”

The conversation was over, but Kate couldn’t bring herself to end it. She said the one thing she had determined not to say. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.”

Kate kept the receiver to her ear, waiting for him to say something else or break the connection. But the line remained silent. She hung up.

Her meal lay untouched on the coffee table. The CD had finished playing, but she didn’t get up to put on another. She sat on the settee, her legs curled under her, idly stroking Dougal who was slumped asleep on her lap. She told herself she had no reason to feel miserable. The whole point of what she was doing was because she didn’t want a relationship. Alex had known from the start what the situation was. This would be her pregnancy; her baby. It would be cruel to let their relationship — or non-relationship, she thought, remembering Christmas — go on any longer. With a sigh she slid Dougal onto the cushion and stood up. She picked up the plate of cold pasta and took it into the kitchen. As she was scraping it into the bin, the phone rang. Expecting it to be Lucy, she went to answer it. “Hello?”

“It’s me. Alex.”

The sound of his voice brought a rush of mixed emotions. He went on before she had time to sort them, not giving her a chance to speak.

“Look, I’ve been thinking. You’re right, we should stop seeing each other, but, well, the thing is, I thought it would be nice to meet one last time. Perhaps after you’ve been to the clinic, or something. You know, for a sort of farewell good-luck dinner.”

The words had come out in a rush. Now he stopped. When he spoke again it was more haltingly. “It seems a shame to — to just end it like this. Without, well, without saying goodbye properly.”

His voice held a note of hope. Kate found her mood had lightened.

“Yes,” she said, smiling. “I suppose it does.”

The oak tree by the clinic’s gate was bare and black. Kate passed under it and walked up the drive. The gravel, dry and bleached the last time she had been, was dark and shiny with rain. Although it was only mid-afternoon, the day was reduced to a foggy twilight. Wind tugged at her hair and chapped her cheeks, and then the automatic doors slid open to let her pass into the warmth and light of the clinic. The smiling receptionist took her name and asked her to take a seat. Kate sat by the window. Outside, the February bleakness blustered silently behind the double glazing. She unfastened her coat, already feeling the central heating dispel the chill.

After a few minutes a young nurse, smart in a tailored pale grey and white uniform appeared and led her over to a lift. Kate had only been on the clinic’s ground floor before, but the first floor seemed little different. Their feet were silent on the wide, carpeted corridor. Weeping figs and yucca plants provided a green and healthy contrast to the dead vegetation outside. Soft, piped classical music followed them from hidden speakers.

“The residential area’s down there,” the nurse said, as they passed another corridor. Concealed lighting cast a gentle glow along the double row of well-spaced, limed wooden doors. It could have been a hotel.

“The rooms are all private, obviously,” the nurse added. “There’s a six-month waiting list for them, but I don’t suppose you’ll have got as far as thinking about the birth yet.”

Kate smiled dutifully. “I think I’ll get this bit over first.”

A woman in a crisp white maternity smock came towards them, the only other patient Kate had seen so far. Her stomach bulged, taut as a drum against the smock, but she was beautifully made up. She nodded in return to the nurse’s hello and her glance took in Kate’s damp hair, clothes and left hand. Her smile was perfunctory.

The nurse opened a door and stood back to let Kate enter. The room was windowless and small, but not claustrophobically so. A chair stood at one side, and a small rail at the far end held a row of coat hangers. A dressing mirror was fastened to a partly open door, beyond which she could glimpse a sink and lavatory. Another door, closed, was opposite the chair.

“You’ll find a gown and paper slippers for you to change into. There’s no rush. Just press the buzzer when you’re ready,” the nurse told her, indicating a button by the light switch, “and someone will come and get you. Okay?”

Kate said it was. She waited until the nurse had left with a final smile, then looked around. A single white gown was hanging on the rail. She went over and touched it. It was a soft paper. She remembered how the counsellor at the other clinic had told her that there would be no need to take off her clothes. The Wynguard Clinic clearly took a different view.

She sat on the edge of the chair. Her dislike of hospitals made her shiver. Turning, she caught sight of herself in the mirror, nervously perched with her thighs pressed together, her hands clamped between them. She stood up and began briskly to undress.

Kate didn’t hear any buzzer when she pressed the button, but one must have sounded because almost immediately the inner door was opened. The same nurse smiled at her.

“All ready?” She moved to one side, letting Kate into the next room.

It was bigger than the one she had changed in, but also windowless. A couch stood against the wall. Beside it was what looked like a computer console and monitor. A young woman in a white coat sat by it.

“You’ve had an ultrasound scan before, haven’t you?” the nurse asked. “So you know what the drill is.”

Kate nodded. She had been given a scan when she had first gone to the clinic. She lay back on the couch while the technician put a condom over the end of the scanner’s probe. The nurse pulled on a pair of surgical gloves.

“I’ll need a mucus sample first. So if you can move your legs apart and raise them a little, please?”

Kate did. The clearness and texture of her vaginal mucus was another indication of whether or not she was ovulating.

She had checked it herself that morning, along with her temperature and urine. She was as sure as she could be that she had got the timing right, but she was still anxious to have it confirmed by the clinic. After a few seconds, the nurse stepped away.

“Okay, I’ll just get this checked out.”

She left the room and the young woman took her place at the foot of the couch. She gave Kate an encouraging smile. “Right, just relax.”

That was easier said than done. Kate tried to concentrate on the black and white images on the screen. They were unintelligible to her, but the technician studied them intently as she manipulated the probe. Finally, she gave a nod of approval. Kate felt the probe being withdrawn.

“Super. The follicle’s a good nineteen millimetres. Should be ready to rupture any time, I’d say.”

The technician peeled off the condom from the probe and dropped it into a bin with her gloves. She wheeled away the scanner. “You can sit up again, if you like. Dr Janson’ll be along in a few minutes.”

She went out. The piped classical music drifted on in the background without relieving the loneliness of the empty white room. Kate swung her legs off the couch. The sheet of tissue paper covering it slid around slightly on the underlying vinyl. She looked down at her feet as they dangled above the ground, ridiculous in the elasticated paper slippers. She wondered if she would have had to wear them at a less expensive clinic.

The door opened and Dr Janson walked in. The nurse followed her. Dr Janson’s grey-blonde hair was pinned up in a thick French pleat, immaculate as ever. Her white lab coat seemed incongruous over the elegant clothes she wore underneath.

“Hello,” she greeted Kate, brightly. “Everything all right?”

“I think so, yes.”

“Good. Well, you’ll be glad to know that the timing’s fine. You’re about to ovulate, so we can go ahead with the first treatment as planned.”

Dr Janson smiled. She was wearing a pair of gold-rimmed glasses. She looked like a model from an optician’s catalogue, Kate thought.

“Nervous?” the doctor asked. Kate nodded. “There’s no need to be. You won’t be able to feel very much, and it doesn’t take very long. Just try to relax. Now, if you can lie back on the couch …”

Kate lowered herself down again, positioning her legs as before. She could feel the knots of her gown digging into her bare back where they pressed against the mattress. She clenched her hands together by her sides.

There was a snap of surgical gloves. Glancing down, Kate saw the nurse sliding a small orange plastic straw into the stainless-steel tube. She gave it to the doctor, who turned back towards the couch. A speculum was in her other hand.

“Can you raise your legs a little more, please? That’s it.”

Kate stared resolutely at the featureless ceiling. She tried to breathe slowly and steadily, but she still tensed as she felt the first touch. The metal of the speculum had been thoughtfully warmed, and there was no real discomfort. It was no different from having a smear. Even so, the knuckles of her clenched hands were white. Her heart thudded and raced.

She concentrated on the piped music. It was familiar. She had a version herself on CD. Vivaldi. The Four Seasons — Le Quattro Stagione. She tried to remember which movement it was. “Spring”? Or “Winter”?

At the end of the couch, Dr Janson straightened. “Right. There we go.”

Kate lifted her head to see the nurse step forward, holding out a stainless-steel tray. Dr Janson put the inseminator and speculum into it and smiled down at Kate. “How do you feel? All right?”

Kate nodded. “Good. Just lie still for a few minutes, and then you can get dressed and go home.”

“So I can carry on as normal?”

“Completely as normal. I’ll see you tomorrow for the second insemination, and then that’s it for this cycle. It’s just a matter now of keeping your fingers crossed and waiting to see if you have a period or not. If you do, then we’ll try again next month.”

She gave Kate another smile. “The nurse will bring you a cup of tea or coffee, so just relax for a few minutes. There’s no rush.”

She left. The nurse asked Kate what she wanted to drink and then left also, carrying the tray containing the instruments and the doctor’s latex gloves, crumpled on the gleaming metal like a beached jellyfish.

Kate lay back on the couch. I’ve done it now. The thought was a silent, exultant cry, setting her down on the other side of a barrier from the fears and uncertainties of a pre-insemination existence. She felt drunk on the knowledge that she was irrevocably committed. Even if she didn’t become pregnant this cycle, there was always the next. Or the one after that. She had finally made the leap. Now it was simply a matter of continuing.

The nurse returned, carrying a china cup and saucer and a plate of biscuits. “Another five minutes and you can get dressed,” she said. Kate pushed herself upright as the woman set the tea and biscuits on the table at the bottom of the couch. She turned to go, but then bent and picked up something from the floor. “Is this yours?”

She held out the gold chain and locket Alex had bought Kate for Christmas. Kate’s hand went to her throat. “I must have caught it when I was getting changed. Thanks.”

Though the chain was light, Kate felt a heaviness at its cold touch as she fastened it back around e neck. Subdued mic, plaed on unfamiliar stringed instruments, was playing in the Thai restaurant. The dining room was dark, but each table was lit by two fat candles so that walking down the aisles between them was like being ina temple. The air smelled of burning candle wax, lemon and garlic.

Alex was already at the table when Kate arrived. She had thought it best if they made their separate ways there, rather than share a taxi as they had in the past. The candlelight gave his face a melancholy cast as he stared into it, reminding Kate with a pang of the first night they had gone to Lucy andJack’s. Then he looked up and saw her, and she pushed the memory away.

“Sorry I’m late,” she said, as the white-jacketed waiter pulled back her chair. “The taxi didn’t turn up so I had to order another.”

“That’s okay.” Alex smiled at her. “You look … ah, you look great.”

Her hair was up in a chignon, and she wore a plain black long-sleeved dress. The locket hung around her bare neck. “Thank you.”

They fell silent. “So — ” they began at the same time, and stopped. “Sorry. You first,” Kate said.

“I was just going to ask how it went.” He lowered his voice slightly. “You know, at the, er, at the clinic.”

She had finished her second insemination the day before. “Oh, okay. I’ve just got to wait and see what happens now.”

“Well. I hope …” Alex struggled. “Well, you know.”

She nodded. “Thanks.”

The bubble of tension around them seemed to tighten, choking any chance of conversation. Kate looked at the other tables, islands of intimacy with their burning candles. The conversations were low but animated, a murmuring counterpoint to the tinkle of cutlery. No one seemed miserable. She drew a deep breath. “Perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea.”

He looked hurt. “Why?”

“It just might have been better to leave it as it was.” She shrugged. “This is only dragging things out, isn’t it?”

Alex nudged the warm wax pooled at the base of the candle with his finger. He didn’t look at her. “Do you want to go?”

“No,” she said, after a moment. The waiter returned. Giving a short bow, he handed them each a menu.

“They serve saki. Why don’t you have a flask?” Kate asked, brightly.

“Aren’t you having any?”

“I’m not drinking alcohol.” She glanced at the waiter, who was waiting patiently by the table. “But don’t let that stop you.”

Alex looked momentarily bewildered, then understood. “Okay.” He sounded apathetic.

They ordered, but lapsed into silence again once the waiter had gone. There was a disturbance on the other side of the restaurant, where the head waiter, distinguished by a black jacket instead of a white one, was having a controlled but heated debate with the occupants of a table hidden by a bamboo screen. Finally, with a terse nod, he strode towards the kitchen. The distraction over, Kate tried to think of something to say. “So how’s work?” she asked.

“Oh … okay, thanks.”

She cast around for another conversational gambit, but they all skittered out of reach. The waiter arrived with a truncated flask of saki and a bottle of mineral water. He filled their glasses and withdrew.

“Well. Cheers,” Kate said, raising hers. The bubbles from the water tickled her tongue. She noticed that Alex hadn’t drunk from his glass.

“Look, Kate …” he began, slowly, and she stiffened at the seriousness of his tone. “I, er …” He swallowed. “I just wanted to say … I’m glad … uh, glad it was me.” He broke off, his voice husky, and looked away quickly.

Kate felt her eyes sting. But she was saved from having to respond by the return of the waiter. He put a metal warming tray in the centre of their table, and lit the four alcohol lamps inside with a taper he first held in a candle flame. Another waiter appeared and set out a series of small steaming bowls on top of the tray. They bowed again and left.

“Smells delicious,” Kate said. Her appetite had vanished.

Avoiding each other’s eyes, they served themselves with portions of rice and subtly scented meat and vegetables.

They both reached at the same time for the small bowl of satay sauce. Kate smiled and motioned for Alex to take it first, and as she did there was another commotion from the other side of the restaurant.

The head waiter was standing beside the screened table again. This time he was shaking his head, emphatically, talking in a low but firm tone against the more strident voice that was raised against him. Kate couldn’t make out what either was saying, but the hidden speaker grew louder and more angry, and there was just time to register that the man’s voice was familiar when there was the scrape of chairs being pushed back.

The screen shook as the couple who had been sitting behind it stood up. The girl was heavily made up, large-breasted and drunk. The man with her had his back to Kate but then he turned, and she felt the shock of recognition as she saw his profile. She ducked her head, stared down at her plate.

“Kate? What’s the matter?” Alex asked. She shook her head without looking up. The exit was behind her, she realised, sickly. “Are you all right?”

She nodded. Now she could hear them approaching, his heavier footsteps chased by the staccato tap of the girl’s heels. She lifted her chopsticks, made a show of interest in the food. The footsteps stopped by their table.

“Well, fancy seeing you here.”

She looked up. Paul had halted by the table. He had a lopsided smirk on his face as he stared down at her. The girl stood behind him, looking on with blowsy confusion.

“Hello, Paul.”

Even in the candlelight, she could see how flushed he was. His face was bloated and puffy. He looked from her to Alex. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

She felt surprisingly calm. “Alex, this is Paul.”

Alex gave him an uncertain smile. Paul’s grin was unpleasant. “You haven’t introduced us to your friend,” Kate said. “Sorry, no, I haven’t, have I? Forgetting my manners.”

Paul motioned with his head at the girl, who was swaying with the effort of standing still. “This is Kim. Kim, meet Kate. Kate’s an ‘old friend’ of mine. This is Alex, her ‘new friend’. So what do you do, Alex?”

Alex glanced hesitantly at Kate. “I’m, uh, I’m a psychologist.”

“A psychologist!”

Paul’s voice was growing louder. Kate was aware of heads turning in their direction. “Don’t tell me you’re finally seeing a shrink, Kate? Or is this just a social thing? One way of getting treatment without paying for it, I suppose.”

More people were turning to look now. Kate felt a cold detachment. “You were on your way out. Don’t let us keep you.”

“Yeah, I’m on my way out, all right.”

His smile was a thin mask. “Freud here doesn’t know what he’s letting himself in for, does he? You watch your back, mate,” he said to Alex, without taking his eyes from Kate. “Little Katie here’s always mixing business with pleasure. Until she’s got what she wants out of you, and then boom! You’re out!”

Alex’s face was pale, except for patches of colour on his cheeks. “I think you’d better g-go.”

He said it quietly, and the syncopation was barely audible, but Paul picked up on it. “You thu-think I’d buh-buh-better guh-go? Why, so you can psychoanalyse her with your dick?”

The surrounding tables had fallen quiet. Kate saw the head waiter coming towards them. Alex clenched his fists on the table. “Ignore him,” she said, but now both men were focused on each other. Alex seemed to be almost quivering.

“G-get out!”

Paul leaned towards him. “Fuh-fuh-fuck off.”

“Alex, no!” Kate said, reaching across to restrain him as he began to stand. He glanced at her, and while he was still half in, half out of his seat, Paul hit him.

The punch caught him on the cheek and knocked him sideways, sending him sprawling almost full length onto the table. It tipped up, toppling Alex off in a cascade of candles, food and breaking crockery. The noise seemed to go on forever as dishes, trays and glasses crashed to the floor, and then, abruptly, it stopped.

A plate spun, lazily, in the ensuing hush, spiralling to a gradual standstill. The restaurant was utterly silent.

Then Kate was out of her seat and kneeling beside Alex, and white-coated waiters were converging on them from everywhere.

Alex let her help him sit up. His mouth was bleeding. Broken plates crunched underneath him. “Are you all right?” she asked. Dumbly he put his hand to his mouth. He blinked, staring at the blood on his fingers, and then glared up at Paul. Kate felt him tense. “Don’t, Alex! Please!”

She kept tight hold of his shoulders. Some of the tension went out of them, and then other hands were helping him to his feet.

Paul was surrounded by waiters. He looked surprised himself by what he’d done as he allowed himself to be hustled towards the exit. The girl, who hadn’t spoken throughout, tottered along behind on her high heels. Kate saw Alex staring after him with a look in his eyes she hadn’t seen before. Then Paul was roughly pushed out of the room, and the doors had closed and shut him from view.

One waiter brushed the worst of the debris from Alex’s clothes while another neatly stamped out the small puddles of blue flame that had spilled out from the alcohol lamps.

The table was swiftly righted and Kate and Alex were politely ushered along the aisles to the door as waiters set about repairing the mess. Some people stared openly at them as they passed, others ostentatiously kept their eyes averted.

There was no sign of Paul or the girl in the foyer. The head waiter solicitously sat Alex in a chair and had hot towels brought to wipe him down. Alex held a napkin to his mouth, saying nothing. A taxi was ordered, and the head waiter smilingly refused Kate’s offer to pay for the meal and damage. He was polite, but clearly wanted them to leave. Kate glanced back into the dining room as the door swung open. Their table was already fully set and covered with a fresh white cloth, candles glowing sedately as though nothing had happened.

She tried to persuade Alex to let the taxi go straight to his home, but he refused.

“I’d rather take you home first,” he said. His voice was thickened slightly by the swelling on the side of his mouth from where Paul had hit him. Something in his tone told Kate not to press.

Neither of them spoke again during the journey. Alex sat bunched in the corner, staring out of the window. Occasionally he dabbed at the corner of his mouth with the bloodstained napkin the head-waiter had insisted he take. Kate sat at the other side. There could have been a glass wall between them.

The taxi pulled up outside her flat. Alex continued to stare through the window as she opened the door.

“I’m sorry,” she said. He nodded. He looked as dispirited and dejected as a schoolboy who had lost a fight. Abruptly, she turned to the taxi driver. “We’ll both get out here, thanks.”

Alex turned to her, alarmed. “No, I’ll go home — “

“No, you won’t. I can’t let you go like this. The least I can do is let you get properly cleaned up.”

“No, really — ” he began, but she was already on the pavement, the taxi door standing open as she paid the driver. After a moment Alex got out. He waited behind her, silent, as she unlocked her flat and led him up the stairs. “The bathroom’s through there. If you want to change your sweater, I’ve got a T-shirt that’ll probably fit you.”

Leaving him, she went into the kitchen and set the coffee percolator on to boil. Then, rummaging in a drawer until she found a baggy T-shirt, she went to the bathroom and knocked on the door. Alex opened it a crack. He had taken off his sweater, and through the gap in the doorway she could see how white his skin was. The silver chain lay pale around his neck. “Can’t promise much for the style,” she said, passing him the T-shirt. He smiled, a little nervously, as he took it.

Kate went back to the kitchen. The coffee hadn’t started to bubble. She set out two cups. Then, taking a tumbler from a cupboard, she went into the lounge and poured a large brandy into it.

There was a noise from the doorway. Kate turned as Alex came in, pausing uncertainly in the doorway. It was strange seeing him in her lounge, wearing her T-shirt. She held out the tumbler. “I thought you could do with this. Coffee’s on its way.”

He accepted the glass with mumbled thanks. Kate sat in one of the armchairs. Alex went to the other. He took a sip of brandy, and winced. Gingerly he touched his mouth again.

“How is it?” she asked.

“Okay.”

She looked down at her hands. “I’m sorry about tonight. About what happened.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does. You got dragged into a situation that … well, it wasn’t your problem.”

“You don’t have to tell me.”

“Yes, I do, I owe you an explanation, at least.”

Kate felt the need of a brandy herself. But she was determined to abstain. She wasn’t going to risk anything interfering with the chances of becoming pregnant. “I used to be involved with Paul. We were at the same agency for a while, but then things got unpleasant and I left. I didn’t see him for years, but then I won a pitch he wanted, and he lost his job, and now he blames me.”

Alex looked into his glass. “How involved were you?”

“We lived together for over a year. I thought … well, I was thinking in terms of marriage and babies. I must have been stupid.”

“Why?”

“Oh, it isn’t really worth going into.”

To her surprise, though, she found she wanted to. “I just didn’t see what sort of person Paul was, that’s all. He was the agency’s marketing director, and I was the new girl. I suppose I was flattered that he took an interest in me. It took a while for me to realise he was taking an interest in half the other girls in the office as well. And anybody else that took his fancy. By the time I did, we were living together.”

Kate swallowed. She could feel Alex watching her. “Anyway, eventually I confronted him. He denied it, and like a fool I believed him. But then something else would happen, and I’d confront him again, and he’d deny it again. That went on for a while, and then one night we had a blazing row. You know, a real vase smasher. And he didn’t deny it any more. He said — he said it was my fault. That I drove him to it.”

She stopped, remembering the crushing lack of self-respect. She shook it off and went on. “I should have left him then, but … well, I didn’t. We made up. But now he knew he could get away with it, he didn’t even try very hard to hide what he was doing any more. And then — ” She broke off.

“What?” Alex asked.

“Nothing. I just left him.”

“What were you going to say?”

“Nothing,” she repeated, but there was no conviction in her voice. She could feel Alex watching her. “He gave me VD.”

Part of her couldn’t believe she was telling him this. Only Lucy knew, and she never alluded to it. Kate could feel the rawness and shame surfacing again, but also a relief at telling someone. Telling Alex. “The doctor at the hospital told me it was nothing serious, only gonorrhoea, and that a course of antibiotics would clear it. So then I told Paul. And he … uh, he blamed me. Called me a slut and a whore, and accused me of giving it to him. He knew I hadn’t, but it was easier than accepting he was in the wrong. And I suppose he was upset because he knew he’d have to go for treatment himself, and get in touch with all the girls he’d slept with recently. He’d got to take it out on somebody. So he threw me out of the flat we were sharing. You know, physically pushed me out, and started throwing all my clothes out of the window. The neighbours called the police, and when they came he started telling them what a whore I was, and what I’d given him. I think he’d almost started to convince himself by that time. And I looked at these two policemen, and I could tell they believed him. They didn’t say anything, but they looked at me like I was … dirt.”

She noticed she was plucking at the chair arm. She folded her hands back on her lap like an unwanted book. “Anyway, he refused to let e back in. I didn’t know anywhere else to go, so I phoned Lucy. She and Jack had only just had Emily, but they let me stay with them until I found a flat. I was in quite a state. I couldn’t go back to work, not with Paul there. I suppose I had a sort of breakdown. I cut myself off from all my friends, except Lucy. I couldn’t face seeing any of them. I started chain-smoking, bursting into tears for no reason. Then Lucy got me some freelance work with someone Jack knew. I did a few more jobs like that and ended up starting my own agency.”

She shrugged. “Instant work therapy.”

Alex was listening with an intense expression. “What about Paul?” he asked.

“I’m not with you.”

“Was tonight the first time you’ve seen him since then?”

“I wish.”

She told him, briefly, about the pitch for the Parker Trust account, and its aftermath. When she finished she took a deep breath. “So that’s what you ended up in the middle of tonight.”

Alex didn’t say anything. Kate tried to phrase another apology, when a smell she had been peripherally aware of for some time finally registered. “God, the coffee!”

She leapt from her chair and ran to the kitchen. The odour of burnt coffee became much stronger. The espresso percolator was blackened around its base. It was hissing threateningly as Kate turned off the gas. She picked it up by the black plastic handle and hastily set it down again, shaking her hand. “Damn!”

Heat radiated from the metal as Kate used a cloth to pick it up this time. She turned a tap on and tentatively held the percolator under the stream of water. The sudden burst of steam almost made her drop it.

“I’d just leave it to cool. You’ll crack the metal doing it that way.”

She hadn’t heard Alex come in. Kate poured a little coffee into one of the cups, and wrinkled her nose at the sharp odour. She set the percolator back on the cooker. “Looks like coffee’s off. I’ve got instant, though. Or tea?”

“It’s okay. I ought to phone for a taxi, really.”

His edginess was contagious. “Okay.”

She turned away. “The phone’s in the hall.”

She went to pour the coffee down the sink and, without thinking, picked up the percolator by the hot metal. With a cry, she dropped it and boiling coffee splashed out as it struck the cooker. Kate jumped back, but the scalding liquid spattered her bare wrists. She gasped at the pain of it, and then Alex was beside her, pushing her to the sink.

“Here.” He was spinning the cold tap on full. “Put them under.”

She recoiled from the force of the cold water, but he kept both her arms in the stream, turning them so that the water gushed over her burnt hand and scalded wrists. Red patches had already formed where the coffee had landed on her skin, and Alex kept them under the tap until her entire forearms started to ache from the cold.

“I think that’ll do it,” she said.

Alex shook his head, still holding them in the icy water. “Not yet. If you keep them in long enough it’ll stop them from blistering.”

She glanced at him. He stood pressed against her, his hands gripping her arms at the elbow, face intent. At last he turned off the tap. “Is there a clean towel?”

“In that drawer.”

Kate motioned with her head. Alex took one out and gently dabbed her arms dry. The livid patches were not as angry as they had been, and no longer hurt. Her arms felt numb from elbow to finger tips.

“Have you got any E45 cream?”

Kate didn’t even know what it was. “No. Savlon?”

Alex gave a terse shake of his ha, still patting her arms with the towel. “Anything you use for sunburn?”

“There’s some aloe lotion. On the shelf in the bathroom.”

He nodded approval. “What about painkillers?”

“It doesn’t hurt.”

“It will, once the numbness has worn off.”

“I think there’s some aspirin in the bathroom.”

He wentto fetch hem Kate stayed where she was, a little bemused by it all. Her arms were beginning to tingle.

Alex returned and gave her three aspirins. He began to fill a mug from the draining board withwaer. “Don’t bother,” Kate told him. “I’ll chew them dry.”

He looked at her for the first time since she had dropped the coffee pot. “It was a habit I got into,” she explained, seeing his expression. “I used to get a lot of tension headaches.”

He handed her the mug anyway. “It still won’t hurt to get some fluid inside you.”

As Kate used one hand to drink, he delicately smoothed the lotion onto the burnt palm and wrist of the other. She put down the mug and watched him. “I thought you were a psychologist, not a burns specialist.”

He kept his eyes on what he was doing. “You’d be surprised what you pick up.”

He gently smeared lotion onto her other arm. His fingers were light on the tender skin. “There. That should take the worst of the sting from it.”

He was standing close in front of her. “Thank you,” she said, and without planning it leaned forward and kissed him.

He stiffened. Kate could feel his sudden tension, and for a second thought he was going to pull away. Then, hesitantly, he relaxed.

The contact between them was only slight, little more than a brushing of lips, and Kate dimly wondered what she was doing. She closed her eyes. She could taste the brandy on his mouth, feel the slight hardness where his lip was swollen. She touched it with the tip of her tongue. His breath feathered against her skin. She kissed him again, her tongue softly tracing the line of his lips. Moving closer, she brought her arms up around his neck, awkwardly, because they were sore. His went tentatively around her. She kissed him more deeply, feeling his tongue begin to respond to hers. His arms tightened around her waist. She dug her fingers in his hair, pulling him to her, no longer aware of the pain in her arms. His hands dropped to her buttocks as he pressed himself against her. She drew away, leading him towards the hallway.

Alex didn’t take his eyes from hers. He seemed almost drugged as they went into the bedroom. It was dark, with only the light from the kitchen spilling through the open door. She kissed him again, stroking his back. When she slid a hand inside his T-shirt she felt him give a small quiver.

She took hold of one of his hands and moved it to her breast. He cupped it lightly, and she felt the quiver spread through him. He was trembling as she undid his belt, then the top button of his trousers. She could feel him suck in his stomach slightly as the backs of her hands touched his bare flesh. There was a crispness of hair beneath them. He gave a low moan and clutched her more tightly, his own hands fumbling at her dress. She reached behind herself to unzip it. The dress tumbled slowly to her ankles. She stepped out of it. “Oh God,” he breathed, looking at her, and then they were kissing and she was dragging off his T-shirt, scarcely aware of the ripping sound as it came over his head and shoulders. The skin of his chest and stomach was hot against hers. She heard the faint rasp of it against the fabric of her bra as he groped behind her, struggling with its catch. She unfastened it for him, and Alex gave a little whimper as he bent his head and took one of her nipples in his mouth. She tugged his trousers over his hips, running her hands inside the back of his underpants to grip the roundness of his buttocks before peeling off the thin fabric.

He wasn’t fully erect, so she took hold of him, squeezing lightly. She felt him throb and harden, the shaft smooth, almost silky, in her hand. He gave a low gasp. With her other hand, Kate pushed off her own pants, letting them whisper down her legs to the floor. She put her arms around his neck, kissing him, feeling his erection pressing against her stomach, and stepped back towards the bed. Alex was shivering as he went with her. She sank onto it, pulling him on top of her, opening her legs so he lay between them. He lunged at her clumsily straight away, missing and gliding over her lower belly. She reached down between their bodies, guiding him, lifting her hips slightly, and then she felt him sliding inside her.

She raised her legs, snaking them around him as their bodies wedged tight together. Suddenly he was thrusting frantically, his head arching back as he spasmed and gave a strangled moan. He hung for a moment, jerking and rigid, then went limp. Kate felt his full weight settle on her as he buried his head in the angle of her neck and shoulder, gasping. She gently stroked the back of his head, adjusting to the abruptness of it being over.

After a while she felt him stir. He pushed himself off her and lay on his back. “Sorry.”

Kate could barely see him in the darkness. “What for?”

“You know. Being so quick.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

She meant it. Her initial disappointment had ebbed now. “I’m not … I’m not very experienced.”

The confession was blurted out. Kate hid her surprise. She rolled onto her side, so that her body was touching his, aware of the cooling wetness between her thighs. “That’s nothing to be ashamed of.” She put her hand on his chest. She could feel his heart beating under it. The chain he wore around his neck felt cold as she stroked her fingers through the hairs.

“Sorry,” he said again, and Kate lightly tapped him.

“Stop it. There’s no need to keep apologising.”

Turning, she reached for the bedside table and switched on the lamp. Blinking in the sudden light, she looked back at Alex. His eyes were wet, she saw with alarm.

“Hey, come on!” She moved so she was lying half on top of him, propping herself up on her elbows. Her breasts brushed against him. She smiled. “It wasn’t that bad, was it?”

He smiled back but didn’t meet her eyes. “No. It’s just that … I’m not very good at this sort of thing.”

“You seemed okay to me.”

He gave her a quick look and, with sudden intuition, Kate understood much of his past nervousness. The tenderness she felt for him closed up her throat.

“What’s this?” she said, deliberately changing the subject. She fingered the disc hanging on the chain around his neck.

“It’s just a St Christopher.”

Kate casually slid one of her legs over him as she examined it. The medal was about two centimetres in diameter, and the design of the man carrying the child across the water was crude and stylised, not at all obvious at first glance. “It looks old,” she said, lifting it from his chest. It was thick and heavy.

“Uh, yes, I suppose it is.” He looked down at it. “It waas my grandmother’s.”

“Did she leave it to you?”

Alex paused before answering. “No, she gave it to me before she died. She said it’d bring me good luck.”

Kate laid it back on his chest. “And has it?”

She moved her leg gently up and down.

“I, uh, well, yes, I suppose it has.”

He was smiling now. Kate could feel him beginning to harden again under her thigh. The St Christopher was a cold disc between her breasts as she slid on top of him. “It’s a good job you said that.”