In the bathroom – rather nicely done out in mulberry and jade green — Dulcie washed her face, which at least stopped her looking like a madwoman, and pressed James’s wrung-out flannel over her puffy eyes. Next, she checked out the toiletries on show and had a brisk rummage through the bathroom cabinet.
No sign of any girlie stuff. Promising.
‘Better,’ James remarked when she returned to the sitting room. He had made her a coffee in the meantime. As she spooned in sugar, Dulcie couldn’t help wondering if he’d heard her clunking around in his bathroom cabinet.
‘Thanks.’
The cards had been pushed to one side, to make way for the tray.
‘Well, I’m fairly sure you didn’t knock on my door just to ask if you could use my bathroom.’
James raised his tumbler, drank, and gave her a quizzical look. ‘So why are you here?’
‘I came to say sorry.’
‘You said it before.’
‘You didn’t want to hear it last time,’ said Dulcie. ‘Now I’m trying again.’
James stood with his back to the fireplace. He was studying her, apparently deep in thought, and rubbing the heel of his hand over his close-cut beard.
It occurred to Dulcie that he was the only man she knew who had a beard she actually liked.
‘Fine. Okay,’ he said at last. ‘It’s in the past. What is this anyway, some kind of guilt trip? A quest for absolution? You can’t rest until everyone whose lives you ever meddled with has forgiven you?’
That was another thing about James, Dulcie remembered, his dry sense of humour. As in Sahara-dry. It wasn’t always easy to know when he was joking. For instance, he definitely sounded serious now, but wasn’t there just the teeniest hint of amusement in his eyes?
Best to grovel, she decided, to be on the safe side. ‘Something like that,’ Dulcie admitted. ‘I know what ‘I did was wrong.' She glanced up at James. ‘But ‘I wasn’t the only one.’ His dark eyebrows went up a couple of millimetres. ‘Oh?’
‘Bibi made a mistake, not telling you how old she was. My big mistake was letting you find out.’
Bluntly, no longer penitent, she concluded, ‘And finishing with Bibi was yours.’
James shook his head.
‘Oh, Dulcie, you haven’t changed.’
‘Actually, ‘I have.’ She risked a wry smile. ‘You wouldn’t believe it.’
‘Tell me why you’re really here.’
Finishing her coffee first, Dulcie put the cup back down on the tray and picked up a handful of the envelopes James had already addressed.
‘Sending me one this year?’ she enquired idly.
‘You won’t find your name on any of those. Come to think of it,’ said James, side-tracked, ‘how did you know ‘I was living here?’
Dulcie shrugged and carried on shuffling through the cards. ‘Just clever. Sending one to Bibi?’
When James didn’t reply, she looked up. His mouth was set in an ominously narrow line.
‘Is that why you’re here?’
‘It’s a good enough reason, isn’t it?’ Dulcie decided to just go for it; she — or rather Bibi — had nothing to lose. ‘James, I saw her today. And she isn’t happy. She misses you. And you know you miss her. I mean, talk about screamingly obvious.’
James said slowly, ‘You drove over here to ask me to send Bibi a Christmas card?’
‘Don’t you see?’ Dulcie babbled on, really getting into her stride now. ‘You tried to forget her, you tried going out with other women — well, more like teenagers from what I hear — but it didn’t work, it couldn’t work, because they just weren’t Bibi.’
‘Hang on, did Liza tell you this?’ James was looking bewildered.
‘No, Bibi did.’
Bibi ...?’
‘Doesn’t matter.’ Impatiently Dulcie brushed the interruption aside. She was on a mission; all she needed now was for James to do as he was told. Now look, you were the one who finished with her, so it’s up to you to make the first move.’
‘Can ‘I get you another drink?’ James’s mouth twitched with amusement as he topped up his own glass once more. He sat down on the arm of the sofa and watched Dulcie sort frenziedly through the box of as yet unwritten- on Christmas cards.
‘No thanks. Here, this one. And here’s a pen.’
She was holding a glossy cherub-laden card towards him. She had even helpfully opened it out, and was pointing with his pen to the place where he should write.
‘My mother used to do that to me when I was seven.’
‘Please,’ said Dulcie. ‘It’s a start, don’t you see? Bibi’s speaking to me again. If she can break the ice with me, you can break the ice with her.’
