with Pat even before he had so fortuitously met Elspeth Harmony, so nobody could accuse him of trading one woman for another. But even if he had not been disloyal, he still felt uncomfortable about the actual process of ending the relationship. On several occasions, he had rehearsed what he would say, trying various scripts, fretting over the degree to which each might be thought either too heartless or too ambiva-lent. Nothing sounded quite right.
And when the time came, it sounded flat, sounded phoney.
“Pat,” he began. “You and I need to talk.”
She looked up from a letter which she was in the process of opening. “Talk? All right. But about what?”
“Us,” said Matthew. “That is, you. Me. Us, as a . . . a couple.”
She saw that he was blushing, and this worried her. She had hoped that he would have forgotten what he had said that evening, at the Duke of Johannesburg’s party, but he evidently had not. Oh dear, she thought, I’m going to have to hurt his feelings. Poor Matthew! And he’s wearing his distressed-oatmeal sweater too.
“Yes,” Matthew went on, averting his gaze. “I’ve been having a serious think about us, and I think that we need to go back 274
We have different plans. I want to settle down and you . . . you, quite rightly, don’t really want that, do you? You’re younger. It’s natural.”
Pat listened attentively. Her reaction was one of immense relief, but she did not want Matthew to see that. She hoped that she sounded sufficiently concerned.
“Are you sure?” she asked.
“Yes, I think so.”
She sighed. “You’ve been very kind to me, Matthew. And always thoughtful.”
Matthew blushed.
“But you’re probably right,” Pat went on quickly. “You need something I can’t give you.”
“I’m glad you understand.” He paused. “So you’re not too upset?”
“No . . . I mean of course I’m sorry, but I’ll get over it. And I really think it’s for the best.”
His relief was palpable. It had been far easier than he had imagined.
“And I hope that you find somebody else, Matthew. I really hope that. You deserve somebody nice, somebody who wants what you want.” She looked at him. Poor Matthew. He would find it hard to get somebody else.
Matthew hesitated. He had not been sure whether he should mention Elspeth to her, but now it struck him that it would be almost dishonest not to do so, now that she had mentioned the possibility. “In actual fact,” he ventured, “I’ve met somebody.
Just a few days ago.”
Pat gave a start. “You’ve met another girl?”
“Yes. She’s a teacher. She came into the gallery, and, well, it just happened. We fell for each other.”
Pat said nothing for a moment. For each other? Or was it more a case of Matthew doing the falling? The problem, she thought, was that nobody would fall for Matthew just like that.
He was very kind; he was very gentle; but he was not the sort for whom women fell – they simply did not. The thought was a disloyal one, and she tried to put it out of her mind. So she asked Matthew who she was.
“She’s older than you are,” said Matthew. “She’s about my age, or even a year or two older. I don’t know exactly. And she’s called Elspeth Harmony.”
Pat nodded. “Go on.”
“Well, I don’t really know too much about her,” Matthew continued. “Except that she likes china. I bought her a Meissen figure, in fact. From The Thrie Estaits down the road.”
Pat stared at him. “You bought her a Meissen figure?”
“Yes. She loved it. And it was really special.”
Pat’s voice was now considerably quieter. “And me?” she asked.
“What did you ever buy me?”
Matthew was taken aback by this question. “Look,” he said,
“I didn’t know we counted presents.”
“No, we don’t,” she said. “But if I did count . . . well, it wouldn’t come to much. It would come to nothing, actually.”
“Don’t be ridiculous . . .”
“Oh, you think that’s ridiculous?” There was new spirit in her voice. “I’m being ridiculous in thinking that it’s a bit strange that you know her for – how long? – two days, and you buy her a Meissen figure. You know me for over a year, two years really, and you buy me nothing. Nothing. When’s my birthday, Matthew? Go on, tell me when my birthday is.”
“You mean you’ve forgotten?”
“Don’t try to be funny,” she said, her voice now raised. “You can’t pull it off, Matthew. Sitting there in that beige sweater, trying to be funny.”
