Part 12 (2/2)

As she spoke, I a.n.a.lysed its tones and cadences. I heard it rise and fall, decided it was sometimes clear and crisp as a cold Minnesota winter morning. But it somehow managed to be dark and smouldering too, with the promise of a fire of scented pinecones on December nights ...

This was crazy. I was crazy. After all, I was so busy work-wise, setting up a whole new research programme, finding graduate students who could work on it and trying to get funding from industry and commerce.

You don't have the time for complications in your life, I told myself. You should call and cancel, say you have a meeting or you need to see a student or your children. Or your wife ...

Sometime I had to see my wife and try to sort stuff out, not in an attorney's office or a court of law, but in somewhere neutral like a Starbucks, somewhere semi-public where we'd both have to behave.

Lex was being awkward about access to the kids, complaining that she had a ton of stuff to do around about half five, which of course was my best time to see them after I could get away from work, and after they had finished school and pre-school, but before they went to bed. She announced she couldn't be expected to deliver Joe and Poll to the apartment any time it suited me.

'When would be convenient, then?' I asked, when she called me up to talk about it. Or I should say lay it on the line.

'Patrick, don't you take that tone with me.'

'Oh, what tone is that?'

'You know sarcastic, flippant. If you want this access thing to work, you must co-operate. My attorney says ...'

I let her quote her legal team for several tedious minutes.

Then I asked what time would suit her complicated schedule of beauty parlour treatments, appointments with her personal shopper, therapist, ma.s.seuse?

I let her squawk at me again for being so facetious. Then I agreed to fetch the kids from school (Joe) and Angie (Polly), bring them back to the apartment where Lex would collect them at half six, that's after they had dinner.

No additive-rich shakes, no chicken fingers and definitely no fries, some fresh fruit and salad every day, green vegetables and carrot sticks yeah, yeah, yeah, I got it.

'Oh, and Pat, a couple other things ...'

As she rambled on, I thought, I loved this woman once. But now I didn't even like my wife, for everything about her grated voice, appearance, manner, att.i.tude. Most everything she said seemed mean and vengeful, like she thought I should be punished. You beat up on your dog, you have to tell yourself the dog deserves a beating, or where does it leave you?

'So, half six,' said Lexie, winding up her monologue. 'I'll expect them to have eaten dinner and be in their outdoor things and waiting in the lobby for me. Or it might be Stephen fetching them some evenings, that's if I'm delayed.'

'Lex, it will be you,' I said. 'I'm not about to hand my children over to some stranger. So until you come fetch Joe and Polly, I mean from the apartment, they will remain with me.'

'You and Stephen ought to meet, be adult and civilised about this situation.'

'I ought to flatten him.'

'Patrick, that's the sort of crazy talk n.o.body wants to hear, and if you go on being so obstreperous, my attorney says-'

I'd had enough and disconnected.

ROSIE.

I was far too early about an hour early, actually.

I ordered a black coffee. But I was so nervous, so wound up, to me it smelled and tasted like soot dissolved in vinegar, even with three sugars in it, and I couldn't bring myself to drink it.

Then, at last, he came.

I watched him as he walked in through the door and as he looked around for me. He was frowning slightly and seemed a little puzzled, as if he had forgotten why he'd come. But instead of finding this alarming or insulting, I found it most endearing. I watched him with increasing pleasure, waiting for his gaze to light on me. When at last it did, he smiled, came up. 'Hi, Rosie,' he began.

'h.e.l.lo.' Why did he have to say my name? Now my heart was acting like a teenager on heat, thumping like it wanted to burst out of my chest.

'You been here long?' he asked.

'No, only a few minutes,' I replied, or rather lied.

'How's the foot?'

'Oh, it's absolutely fine today!' I told him breezily. No doubt I sounded like the captain of the sixth form netball team.

It was colder in the evenings now. The greens of summer were gradually bowing out and almost every tree was turning russet, red or gold. As Pat sat down, he pulled a black wool scarf perhaps it was cashmere from round his neck.

Who buys your clothes, I asked him, but only in my head. I rather hope it's you and not your wife. I hope you choose. But whoever does it has good taste. A little safe, a little too conservative, perhaps. You could dress ten years younger, which would be closer to your actual age. But on the whole you'll definitely do ...

'I'll go grab a cappuccino. May I get you anything some cookies, chocolate, candy? Rosie?'

'What?' Just stop all this, I told myself. Stop speculating and come back to reality! 'What did you just ask me?'

'How about a brownie or more coffee?'

'Thank you, I'm okay.'

He went up to the counter and came back with his coffee and a m.u.f.fin. 'Do you have plans this evening?' he enquired.

'No, I'm doing nothing in particular. So I'm very open to suggestion.' But this was not a date, for heaven's sake. We were mere acquaintances, mere friends of friends, just meeting up for coffee.

'What kinds of things do you like to do?' he asked.

I watched him as he peeled the greaseproof paper off his m.u.f.fin, carefully, unhurriedly, not tearing it at all, and I wished he was peeling my underwear off me. I like to be with you, I thought. 'What could we do at such short notice?'

'Well ... '

He was looking at me now and I could see his dark brown gaze was serious but friendly. I thought he probably looked at all his students in the same approachable but neutral manner. 'Do you like ballet?'

Please don't look at me, I thought. When you look at me I want to kiss you and that would be a very, very stupid thing to do.

'I'm not a fan,' I said. 'I can see it's clever and I know all dancers have to train and train and train. But to me it looks like posers prancing round and showing us their pants.'

'Excuse me?'

'Panties, I suppose you call them knickers.'

'Oh, I see.' He smiled, but it was the sort of weary, rueful smile you give a tiresome child. 'Music, then do you like music?'

'Yes, I do.'

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