Chapters (50)
- Title Page
- Copyright Page
- Dedication Page
- Contents
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Ninteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-one
- Twenty-two
- Twenty-three
- Twenty-four
- Twenty-five
- Twenty-six
- Twenty-seven
- Twenty-eight
- Twenty-nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-one
- Thirty-two
- Thirty-three
- Thirty-four
- Thirty-five
- Thirty-six
- Thirty-seven
- Thirty-eight
- Thirty-nine
- Forty
- Forty-one
- Forty-two
- Epilogue
- Letter From the Author
- Acknowledgements
- About the Author
‘I’m very happy to say it. I love you, Charlie.’
And with that, the argument was forgotten, and a minute later we were making love again, in bed, slowly, the intensity of it white-hot and all-consuming, the most intense it had ever been, and as she raked her fingernails down my back, and kissed me so hard I felt my lips would be bruised, I told her again that I loved her, and she whispered it into my mouth just before she came.
Afterwards, she lay with her front pressed against my back, her arms tight around me, her legs entwined with mine. She fell asleep quickly but I lay awake for a while. My vow to find out more about her past had gone by the wayside. Tomorrow, I told myself. Despite the weird argument about Kristi, and the scare with Charlie being followed, I felt content. In fact, the protectiveness I’d felt when she was scared, and the release after the argument – which was based on principles I admired even if I wasn’t sure I agreed with them – made me feel even closer to her than before.
But I wasn’t going to sack my cleaner.
Eleven
Eleven
Karen was waiting for me in the little coffee shop in Islington, as we’d arranged. She stood up when she saw me and we kissed each other’s cheeks, a habit she had picked up living in Paris in her twenties.
She looked great. Her dark hair was cut into a neat bob and she was wearing a cream cashmere sweater. I wasn’t entirely sure how old Karen was, but my guess was somewhere between thirty-nine and forty-three. She’d never had children, told me that she’d never had the urge, although her eyes took on a sad, faraway look when she said this. She spent a lot of time doing yoga and Pilates. I still found it odd that we’d had an affair – and ‘affair’ was really the only word that suited it, even though it hadn’t been illicit in any way.
‘You look well,’ she said, studying me, a smile at the edge of her lips.
‘Thanks. You too.’
‘You look like you’re in love.’
I must have blushed because she clapped her hands together and said, ‘How exciting. Who’s the lucky girl?’
I spent the next ten minutes banging on about Charlie and how amazing she was, until Karen’s eyes glazed over.
We turned to the subject of her website and discussed ideas while she showed me some sites she liked on her iPad.