“I don’t want any cock-ups caused by lack of communication,” she told them. “DI Crawley is willing to let you have the run of his incident room, and before you head off back home I expect you to know the Dorset operation inside-out. No more mistakes, got it?”
Together with Cooper she left the flat then. They stood for a while looking out over Poole Harbour. It was a very different kind of day from the one the previous August when they had come to the marina to arrest Marshall. Different in every way. A light drizzle was falling. The sky was leaden and grey. It wasn’t cold but Karen found that she was shivering a bit.
Abruptly she turned to Cooper. “Got your toothbrush?” she asked.
“Always keep one in the car,” he responded.
“Good, ’cause I haven’t got mine,” she said. “I’ll need to borrow yours.”
“I can think of nothing I’d like more, Detective Superintendent,” he replied.
Using Cooper’s name they booked into the Hilton in nearby Bournemouth, a hotel Karen had rather liked when she had stayed there once before while on an antique-hunting weekend, with a former boyfriend and fellow enthusiast, around the many antique shops of nearby Boscombe.
She and Cooper treated themselves to a double room with a big balcony overlooking the sea. And as usual there were things they did because of the illicit nature of their relationship which Karen didn’t like to think about much and which they avoided discussing. Using Cooper’s name was one of these. She knew all too well that he needed to tell his wife where he was staying. He needed an address, even for one night away from home. She didn’t need to tell anyone anything. All Karen had to do in order to free herself for the night was to call her neighbour, Ethel, and ask her to feed Sophie the cat. Everyone she worked with had her mobile number and that was the only method of contact necessary.
Cooper did briefly express anxiety about the cost of the room, which was considerably more than he was likely to be able to reclaim on expenses. Karen would have none of it. She knew he spent very little on himself, and had no wish to increase his guilt by insisting that he spend money he would normally spend on his family — which was something else she didn’t want to discuss with him, not when they could be together all night in what turned out to be a rather good hotel with twenty-four-hour room service.
“It’s on me,” she told him shortly.
He didn’t argue. Instead, as soon as they had shut their bedroom door he took her by the hand and led her to the bed where they lay together, fully clothed, for almost an hour, just savouring their closeness.
“I can’t get over how good this feels,” she murmured.
“I know.” And he kissed her hair and her eyes and her nose in that unique way he had which almost turned her from lover into child.
They ordered steak and champagne on room service. The earlier drizzle had cleared completely and, although it was now mid-June, it turned out to be an unusually warm night for England in early summer, so they took the opportunity to eat outside, sitting on the big balcony watching the stars and the lights of Bournemouth. The town’s two theatres, the Pavilion and the Pier Theatre beyond, blinked at them. The Isle of Wight ferry, which looked a bit like another theatre floating in the sea, was moving slowly across the horizon. It was a magical view.
Karen had had an idea in the back of her head that, with so much more time than usual to be together, this might be their opportunity to talk about their relationship, about where it was going, if indeed it could ever go anywhere. But, as she and Cooper sat together hand in hand, looking out over the seaside town to the ocean, she found that all she wanted to do was enjoy the moment and preserve its memory intact. She didn’t want to talk about their problems or what the future might hold for them. She wanted to concentrate on the present. She wanted to be an ostrich. She was head-over-heels in love. She wanted to pretend that everything was perfect, as, just for one night, in this seaside hotel, it was. Absolutely perfect.
After they had eaten their meal and drunk their champagne they went back to bed and this time they undressed and made love. Their lovemaking was at the stage where it seemed to get better every time. As far as Karen was concerned, she believed that it was simply because she had never cared so much about anybody.
“It’s the same,” he said suddenly. “It’s the same for me.”
She hadn’t even spoken. She knew he was right, though. That’s how it was between them. They thought and felt the same things at the same time. Often they didn’t need to speak at all. She considered it to be quite remarkable.
She reached out for him and drew him to her. He felt so good. He smelt so good. He tasted so good. She realized she was becoming aroused again. Naturally he was, too. At the same time, at the same pace. And they were just beginning again, in a very leisurely fashion, when there was a loud knock on the door.
Automatically they pulled apart.
“Who the hell’s that?” Cooper asked.
Karen checked her watch. It was almost midnight.
“Could be room service wanting our tray,” she suggested. “The waiter did ask us to put it outside.”
“At this hour?”
“Well, I don’t know. Just stay here, they’ll go away.”
She pulled him close again, and as she did so there was another equally loud and rather more insistent knock.
“Oh, fuck,” he said. “I don’t think we double-locked the door. I’d better have a look.”
He climbed out of bed, ambled over to the door, still naked, and peered through the security peephole. At once he recoiled, almost as if he had been attacked.
“Oh, my God,” he whispered.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” Karen sat upright in bed, sensing his alarm.
He turned to her.
“It’s... It’s...”
He was interrupted by another insistent hammering. Then a voice called out.
“Phil, Phil, I know you’re in there with that bloody cow. Open this door, Phil.”
“Oh, my God,” repeated Cooper.
Karen realized at once that it must be Cooper’s wife who was out there in the Hilton’s fifth-floor corridor. She had no doubt at all, even though Cooper seemed incapable of putting a coherent sentence together. She jumped out of bed, reaching to pick up her clothes which she had unceremoniously dropped on the floor.
“Phil, Phil, open the door!” came another shout from outside. “Now!”
It was a command. And to Karen’s horror Phil appeared to be about to obey. He reached for the door handle.
“Don’t!” Karen shouted. “Don’t open it. Tell her you’ll meet her downstairs. Tell her anything. Just don’t open it!”
It was too late. Meekly, Phil Cooper, the husband who had never cheated before, opened the door. His wife pushed past him into the room. Karen watched it all happen as if it were a movie being screened in slow motion. Automatically, she tried to cover herself with the bundle of clothes she now had in her arms. Her shirt and trousers were both in a tangle. She couldn’t sort them out. She felt both pathetic and vulnerable and was quite sure she looked it, too.
Phil Cooper just stood there, still holding the door open, also still stark naked. He seemed to be completely in shock. So was Karen — they were, after all almost always in sync. Sarah Cooper walked towards her. Karen had only seen photographs of Cooper’s wife before. She had never met her. She was as pretty as she looked in the pictures Cooper had shown her, before they had begun what now seemed to be their ill-fated affair. But her red hair was dishevelled and you could see from her eyes that she had been crying. Her face was contorted with hatred as she approached Karen.