Working in different parts of the country, meeting only infrequently — well, that was something every actor had to put up with. What he’d not realised was how much they would change within themselves. Of course they’d started with the best intentions, making that mad cross-country dash on Saturday nights or Sundays, just to be together for a few hours.
But then came extra rehearsals, location shooting, photo calls: always something. From once a week it became every fortnight, then every month. And now…
‘The flat’s not far,’ she was saying as she unlocked her battered Mini estate and threw his grip on the back seat. ‘It’s in one of those big Edwardian houses facing the sea — all bay windows and white stucco. Oh, Tim, it’s going to be lovely! You don’t know how much I’ve been looking forward to this!’
She reversed rapidly out of the parking bay, stabbing at the brake before she changed gear, then swung out on to the road. Tim put his free hand against the dash to steady himself.
‘Alison’s dropped out of Much Ado,’ she announced. Alison was the actress in the company who usually landed the plum parts. ‘Says she’s been offered the lead in a new thriller series for Scottish TV. So she’s going commercial. Always thought she would.’
‘And?’
‘Revised cast list went up this morning.’ Sue jammed her foot down on the accelerator to get across the junction before the lights turned red. ‘They’ve given me Beatrice.’
‘Seeing sense at last, are they? You’re by far the best actress they’ve got. Up till now they’ve been wasting you.’
‘Oh, not really, Tim. I mean — ’
‘I’ll come to see this one.’
‘Make sure you do!’ she retorted. She applied the brake more gently this time as she slowed to turn into the road fronting the short promenade. There was a long terrace of tall white houses, and she pulled up before the third in the row. ‘Much Ado was going to be our play, remember? Me as Beatrice, with you as Benedick.’
‘That’s still the plan,’ he said. ‘One day.’
‘Perhaps.’
It was obvious she no longer believed him, and he felt hurt she hadn’t even attempted to disguise the fact.
He got out of the Mini awkwardly, knocking his injured hand against the door jamb, cursing under his breath as it began to throb again. Sue knelt on the driving-seat and stretched over the back to retrieve his grip. Watching her, Tim became suddenly nervous about this weekend; he was desperate for it not to turn sour. Six weeks apart had been too much.
On the far side of the road was a wide paved area which ended with a two-barred, solid railing, beyond which was the sea. The tide was almost fully in. Waves reared up dramatically, white-maned, before tumbling into themselves and draining slowly back, leaving a spread of seaweed and debris over the narrow strip of sand which was still left uncovered. The late afternoon sunlight glinted on the water. Nothing could have seemed friendlier: no hint of any threat; no menace. No sign of a jellyfish, either in the sea or stranded on the shore.
Perhaps, Tim thought, they infested only the Welsh coast; perhaps the south was free of them.
Sue slammed the car door shut and locked it. ‘Right!’ she exclaimed, smiling at him, her eyes lively. ‘Let’s go in.’
They had hardly set foot on the steep flight of steps leading up to the front door when a short stout woman came bustling along the pavement towards them, handbag on her arm, shaped felt hat in dark green holding her greying hair firmly in place.
‘Chilly wind, isn’t it?’ she said to Sue, pausing. She looked pointedly at Tim. ‘Back for another weekend, then? Hardly seems no time since you was here last.’
‘It’s a fortnight,’ said Sue. ‘How’s the rheumatism?’
‘Mustn’t grumble. Well, it’s nice seein’ you again. Better weather over the next couple o’ days, so they say, an’ we could do with it. Be popping into the shop, will you?’
‘First thing in the morning, Mrs Wakeham,’ Sue promised. ‘We’ll have a chat then.’
Mrs Wakeham nodded, satisfied. Then, with one more glance at Tim, she wished them a happy stay, and walked on.
‘She couldn’t take her eyes off you!’ Sue suppressed a giggle. Lowering her voice, she added: ‘She really does keep the most awful shop. Baked beans, custard powder and a few mangy potatoes — nothing else in it! Oh, and little packets of fancy cakes she’s had on her shelves for years, I’m sure. Even the colours have faded. She tried to sell me some.’
‘You’ve been here before, then?’ Tim was surprised. More than surprised — irritated that she hadn’t told him. ‘You never mentioned.’
Before answering, she waited until they were inside the house with the door closed; then she kissed him on the lips, a sensuous kiss, taking her time over it.
‘There are lots of things I didn’t mention,’ she admitted quietly, her eyes lingering on his face. ‘We’ve so much to talk about, Tim love. So much to catch up on. But not down here in the hall. The flat’s upstairs.’
There was something different about her, Tim thought as he followed her up the uncarpeted stairs. She seemed to have worked out some plan for the weekend, and was determined to see it through. They would be staying in for their meal that evening, she explained, calling back over her shoulder; she’d bought some wine and intended to cook. ‘Just for the two of us,’ she insisted.
‘Of course,’ he agreed; usually she was only too keen to eat out.
The flat’s airy front room was furnished with cheap, shabby furniture, but he noticed she’d bought spring flowers for the vase in the centre of the table, and more on the sideboard. The gas fire was on, glowing white; trickles of condensation ran down the large window panes which gave a hazy view of the sea. An unopened bottle of scotch stood on a tray on the side table, together with soda water and a couple of glasses.
She began to help him out of his coat but he caught her arm, stopping her.
‘I’ve missed you, Sue.’ He held her close.
‘D’you think I haven’t missed you too?’ Her hand wandered over his face. She kissed his cheek, then grimaced. ‘Stubbly! We’ll get these things off, then have a drink.’
She dropped his overcoat across one of the armchairs, together with her ski anorak and hat. Then, without asking, she took off his jacket. He watched her every move as she crossed the room to drape it over the back of one of the dining-chairs. Each little gesture evoked memories: the way she smoothed out a fold with her long, slender fingers; the shape of her lips as she turned towards him again; and those mocking, teasing eyes… smiling… inviting…
Twisting the cap off the whisky bottle, she poured out two generous measures, added soda and brought them across to the sofa where he was sitting, allowing himself to be served. This was her party; let her set the pace.
‘To us, Tim!’
She raised her glass solemnly, her eyes on his.
‘Sue, love — to us! I’m sorry it was so long.’
Putting her glass on the floor beside her, she leaned against him, holding up her face to be kissed. Her lips parted. Their tongues caressed, slowly at first, until hers became more agitated, curling, thrusting, commanding a response from him. She took his hand and guided it beneath her white sweater so that it rested against her stomach.