‘I’m sorry. Can we just talk, for a while?’
He smiles and says, ‘Of course.’ He takes off his jacket and hangs it over the back of the chair, then takes my hand once again. I let him. We speak for a while, but it’s small talk, we’re avoiding things, though what we’re avoiding is different for each of us. For me it’s Kate, but for him? The fact he wants to take me upstairs, I guess. After a few minutes there’s a moment of decision. He’s finished his drink, mine is gone already. We can get more and carry on talking, or we can leave. There’s a hesitation, a drawing in, then he says, ‘I’m sorry. For not telling you I was married, I mean.’ I don’t reply. ‘Can I ask you something?’
‘Of course.’
‘Why did you say you were in Paris? When we first talked, I mean.’
We’re skirting the edges now, circling in.
‘I was. I was on holiday out there.’
‘Alone?’
I think of Anna. ‘With a friend.’ I see my chance. ‘Why? When were you last there?’
He thinks for a moment. ‘September last year, I think it was.’
‘Not since?’
His head tilts. ‘No, why?’
‘No reason.’ I try a different tack.
‘You have friends there?’
‘Not really. No.’
‘No one?’
He laughs. ‘Not that I can think of!’
I pretend to look wistful. ‘I’ve always wanted to be there in winter. February. Valentine’s day in Paris, you know?’ I smile, as if dreaming. ‘Must be beautiful.’
‘So romantic.’
I sigh. ‘I guess. You’ve never been in winter?’
He shakes his head. ‘It’s funny, I can’t imagine it snowing there. I guess I associate it with the summer. You’re right, though. It must be beautiful.’
I look at my glass. Why would he lie? He doesn’t know who I am. Why would he tell me he’d never been to Paris in winter if he had?
‘So who’s your friend over there?’
I look puzzled.
‘The one you were visiting?’
‘Oh, just a friend.’ I hesitate, but I’ve already decided what I have to do. ‘I thought you might know her actually.’
‘Know her?’
‘She sometimes uses encountrz.’
He smiles. ‘I don’t know many people off that site, believe it or not.’
I force myself to laugh. ‘No?’
‘No. You’re the first person I’ve met.’
‘Really?’
‘I swear.’
I realize I believe him. He never talked to Kate. Disappointment begins to build.
‘But you talk to people on there?’
‘A few. Not that many.’
I know what I have to do. I take out my phone and unlock the screen. I’m smiling, trying to keep it light. ‘Wouldn’t it be funny…’ I’m saying ‘…such a coincidence… She’d love it if…’
I hold my phone out to him. I’ve opened a picture of Kate. I force myself to speak.
‘This is her. My friend.’
Silence. I look straight at him as he takes my phone in his hand.
‘Have you chatted to her?’
His face is expressionless. I’m aware that the next emotion that flashes in his eyes will tell me the truth. I’ve sprung the photo on him, he’s unprepared. If he’s ever seen Kate before he’ll give himself away. He has to.
There’s a long moment, then his face breaks into a grin. He looks at me. He’s shaking his head, laughing. ‘Never seen her online, no. But she looks like fun.’
I can see that he’s telling the truth. I’m certain of it. More disappointment slides in, yet it’s muted, and mixed with relief. ‘She is!’ I say. I force myself to smile and put my phone away. I begin to babble. ‘To be honest, she doesn’t go online that much. Not any more… in fact, I’m not sure she ever did, really…’
Lukas is laughing. I worry that he can tell something’s wrong. ‘It would have been quite a coincidence! Shall we get another drink?’
I say no. ‘I’m fine, thanks.’
I try to calm down.
‘So how about you? Do you meet up with many people you speak to online?’
‘No, not really. No.’
‘But you met with me.’
‘Yes. Yes I did.’
He takes my hand again. He’s looking me in the eye.
I can hardly breathe. He didn’t know my sister. He never met her.
‘Why?’
I should stand up. I know that. I should walk away, tell him I’m going to the bathroom, never come back. It’d be easy enough; he doesn’t know where I live.
I will, I tell myself. Soon.
‘I like you, I guess.’
‘And I like you.’
He leans towards me. He sighs. I can feel his breath on my cheek.
‘I like you a great deal.’
I can feel the warmth of his skin, I can smell his aftershave, mingled with sweat. He’s opened me. Something I’ve been holding in check for weeks, months, years, is flooding me.
‘Let’s go upstairs.’
‘No. No, I’m sorry—’
‘Jayne…’ He’s almost whispering. ‘Beautiful Jayne… I’ll be gone tomorrow. This is our one chance. You want it, don’t you? You want me?’
I look back at him. I feel more alive than I can remember. I don’t want it to stop. Not yet. It can’t be over.
I nod.
‘Yes.’
He’s kissing me, his hands are around my waist, he’s pulling me towards him and yet at the same time pushing me back, back, back towards the bed. I fall backwards on to it and then he’s on top of me and I’m pulling the shirt from his trousers, unbuttoning it blindly and with clumsy hands, and his hands are on my chest, and then his mouth, and it’s all sweat and fury and I don’t resist, because there’s no point, that line is already crossed, it was crossed when I walked up to him in the bar, crossed when I left the house to come here, crossed when I said, ‘Yes, yes, yes, I’ll come and meet you,’ and there’s no point in pretending otherwise. My betrayal has been gradual but inexorable, the sweep of the hand on a clock, and it’s led me here, to this afternoon. And right now, with his hands on my naked flesh, and mine on his, with his prick stiffening between my legs, I’m not sorry. I have no regrets at all. I realize how stupid I’ve been. All along, from the very beginning, this is what it’d been about.
When we finish we lie on our backs, side by side. The afterglow. But it’s awkward somehow; I understand now why it’s called the little death, but even if that’s true at least it means I was alive before.
He turns to face me. He props his head on his arm, and again I’m aware of the years between us, the fact that he’s Kate’s age, more or less. His skin is taut and firm, his muscles flex when he moves, visible, alive. As we made love I’d been shocked by this, and now I wonder if it’s something I ever had with Hugh. I can’t quite remember; it’s as if my memories of a younger him have somehow been overwritten by all that’s happened since.
I remind myself that being ten years younger than me makes Lukas twenty younger than my husband.
He reaches out to stroke my arm. ‘Thank you…’ I feel it should be me thanking him, but I don’t. We say nothing for a while. I look at his body, now that it’s still. I look at his stomach, which is firm, and at the hairs on his chest, none of which are grey. I examine his mouth, his lips, which are moist. I look into his eyes and see he’s looking at me in the same way.
He kisses me. ‘You hungry? Shall we get something to eat?’
‘In the restaurant?’
‘We could get something sent up.’
It must be nearly three, I think, possibly even later. Connor will be back soon. And even if he weren’t, even if I had all the time in the world, having lunch with this man seems somehow like a step too far. It would be a sharing of more than just our bodies, would imply a greater intimacy than what we’ve already done, which was just lust, and flesh.