His Pretend Wife

When she’d put Hetta to bed she sat downstairs for a long time, trying to make herself do something decisive, but lacking the energy. The world seemed cold and dreary.

Suddenly it was one in the morning. She’d been staring into space for more than two hours. She pulled herself together and went out into the hall to mount the stairs. As she did so, a brilliant light shone through the door window, almost blinding her. There was the sound of a car engine, then the slamming of the door. And finally the doorbell.

It couldn’t be Andrew, because he must have a key.

But it was Andrew, frowning and uneasy.

She stood back to let him pass, closed the door behind him and helped him off with his coat.

‘I’m sorry to be so late,’ he said. ‘If I hadn’t seen the lights on I’d have left. I’ve been operating all evening.’

‘Then you’d better have something to eat,’ she said. She needed time to sort out her thoughts. His face was exhausted and haggard, and he looked so different from the man she’d been picturing that she felt the ground shaking under her feet.

‘Just a snack. Don’t go to any trouble.’

‘Omelette,’ she said, heading for the kitchen. ‘I’ve got plenty of milk.’

‘Fine, I’ll have some.’

She filled a tall glass with milk, and watched him drink it. ‘Johnny used to say you drank so much milk because you were preparing for your first ulcer,’ she remembered suddenly.

‘Yes,’ he said, as though the memory had surprised him. ‘So he did.’

After that she turned away suddenly to concentrate on the omelette. He asked how Hetta was progressing, and mentioned her next appointment, and in this way they got through the next few minutes.

He ate like a man too tired to know what he was putting into his mouth.

‘When did you last eat?’ Elinor asked.

‘Staff canteen. Lunchtime.’

‘Is one omelette enough?’

‘Would you mind making another one?’ he said at once.

She smiled. ‘Of course not. Go into the other room, and I’ll bring it in.’

A few minutes later she found him on the sofa. She set the plate down on a low table beside him and he smiled his thanks.

‘I’m sorry to do this to you two nights running.’

‘Don’t be silly. Your patients come first. Was it another emergency?’

‘No, the same one. A child. He was rushed in last night, and I thought-it looked like it would be all right. But tonight he took a turn for the worse. We did our best for him, but there was never really any chance.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be,’ he said harshly. ‘It’s part of the job. You just have to go on.’ He gave a forced smile and indicated the food. ‘This is good.’

‘I’ve got some trifle. You should eat as much as you can.’

He gave a faint grin. ‘Fattening me up?’

‘You never got fat, whatever you ate. It used to make me so mad.’

‘Yes. I know.’ He added quickly, ‘Some trifle, then.’

Another mine dodged. But still the minefields stretched ahead.

When he’d finished eating he yawned, then leaned his head back against the chair, eyes closed. She could clearly see the shape and line of each feature. The straight, uncompromising nose, the strong chin that could only have belonged to a stubborn man, and the mouth that somehow didn’t fit with the rest of the face. It was expressive, mobile, suggesting sensitivity, although it had hardened somewhat since they’d loved each other years ago. There were two deep lines on either side of it now, and more lines at the corners of his eyes. It was the face of a man who spent most of his life being tired, and refusing to admit it.

For years she’d resisted the memory of his kisses, and her own frustrated desire for him. But the really dangerous memory was more recent. Just a few short weeks ago his arms had held her as he’d soothed her sobs in the hospital garden. She could feel him now, drawing her head against his shoulder, murmuring soft words of comfort, and against this memory she had no defence at all.

The mouth that now lay relaxed might, or might not, have kissed her hair that night. She couldn’t be sure. At the time she’d had no thought for anything but Hetta. It was only afterwards, reliving the moment, that she’d thought she’d felt the soft pressure of his lips. Or maybe not.

His eyes opened so slowly that she had time to avert her gaze, but she didn’t try. Nor did he. He only looked at her sadly, and his mouth quirked wryly as though he could see a joke against them both.

‘I still can’t believe this,’ he said. ‘And perhaps it isn’t really true.’

‘That’s how I’ve felt,’ she admitted. ‘Since that first day when I saw you in the hospital corridor-I tried not to believe it. I’ve always wondered what I would say to you if we met again, but in twelve years I’ve never found the answer. “I’m sorry” sounds so inadequate.’

‘Good grief! Skip that! I hate apologies. I don’t know how to make them myself and it embarrasses me when other people try. Could I have a cup of coffee?’

Domestic tasks were useful for getting over the awkward moments. She made some fresh coffee and when she returned he was studying the newspaper, open at the ‘To Let’ page, that she’d left on the sofa.

‘It was stupid of me to think that you wouldn’t find out.’

‘This is your house?’

‘Yes.’

‘And Mr Martin?’

‘He doesn’t exist.’

‘So it was all you, including the money you’ve been paying into my account?’

He shrugged. ‘You really are doing me a favour by occupying the house. I don’t like it to be empty.’

‘You could have employed a house sitter for a quarter of the price. This was just a device for-for-’

‘Helping out an old friend?’

‘Is that what you call it? To me it looks like charity.’

He frowned. ‘Are you angry with me?’

To her own dismay, she found that she was. She’d resolved to play it cool, but she’d reckoned without the humiliation that burned in her when she thought of living on his handouts.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said hastily, trying to control herself.

‘It matters to me. As I said, it was for an old friend-’

‘We were never friends,’ she flashed.

‘No, we were lovers, until the day you found another lover that you preferred. But you had every right to do that, and if I can draw a line under it, why can’t you?’

‘Because you’ve been giving me money,’ she said. ‘It’s-it’s insulting.’

‘I didn’t mean to insult you. I just did what I thought you needed.’ He gave a grunt of laughter. ‘One thing hasn’t changed. You always had a genius for putting me in the wrong. I never knew where I was. I suppose that was part of your charm.’

She’d pulled herself together. ‘It’s only charming in a seventeen year old,’ she said. ‘In a middle-aged woman it’s a pesky nuisance.’

‘You’re not middle-aged,’ he said quickly. ‘You’re not even thirty.’

‘I look forty and I feel fifty.’ She sighed. ‘But I’m acting like a ten year old, aren’t I? I’m sorry, Andrew. It’s just that there’s something about taking money-’

‘Will you drop the subject?’ He sounded strained.

‘Yes.’ Casting around for another subject, she said brightly, ‘Your house is wonderful.’

‘Is it?’ He sounded barely interested.

‘You know it is. You did it. You got where you said you wanted. I always knew you would.’

‘Is that what this place says to you? Success?’

‘Of course. And the car.’

‘Oh, yes. I never knew that my character included a strain of the flashy and vulgar until I found I could afford