The Affair Page 11

  She’d expected the flat to be uncared for but when they entered the kitchen, she saw that the sink was clear of dishes and the floor looked as though it had been recently mopped.

  ‘Did you get a charlady after all?’ she asked.

  ‘No, I did it myself. It’s not exactly hard, is it?’

  ‘Oh good. Thank you,’ she said. It felt strange that he had usurped her role, but she couldn’t complain. She should be delighted.

  ‘You’ve got new clothes,’ he commented. ‘And you’ve done something different with your hair.’

  ‘It’s backcombing,’ she said. ‘Seemingly it’s all the rage!’ She meant this to sound ironic, but Trevor looked surprised.

  ‘It’s nice,’ he said. ‘Very modern.’

  While drinking her tea, she checked the larder, expecting to have to rush out and buy provisions for Christmas dinner, but there was a turkey on the shelf, much larger than they would need. He’d also bought potatoes, vegetables, mince pies and a round Christmas pudding in a wrapper with holly printed on top. She was touched that he’d gone to so much trouble.

  ‘When did you manage to shop? That was thoughtful of you.’

  ‘I’ve had to learn how to manage,’ he said. ‘It’s a tricky business. Did you know that all the shops have half-day closing on a Tuesday, except the butchers, which for some reason is Wednesday? Sheer cussedness.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I should have warned you about that.’ She felt guilty. All this should have been her job.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind but I’ve invited an American student, Chad, for Christmas dinner. He was going to be on his own. I told him to come at two-thirty, in time for a sherry before the Queen’s Speech.’

  ‘That was nice of you.’ As if the atmosphere wasn’t already awkward enough, now they had a young American to entertain.

  She turned to check the shelves, listing all the parts of the dinner in her head, and realised there were a couple of items they still needed: Paxo stuffing (‘Christmas wouldn’t be Christmas without the Paxo’) and some orangeade to go with the bottle of gin she’d brought back. Trevor liked gin. ‘I just need to pop out for a couple of odds and ends,’ she told him. ‘I won’t be long.’

  She pulled her coat back on and rushed down to catch the shops in Camden before they closed for the holidays, feeling somehow wrong-footed by Trevor’s preparations.

  On her return he was in his study marking student essays so she took a duster round the flat, noticing that he had dusted around ornaments without lifting them. Still, she should count herself lucky. Women’s magazines sometimes gave tips on how to get your husband to take out the rubbish, or empty the Hoover bag, but none expected them to cook and clean.

  Over supper that evening, the conversation between them felt strained. Every time she mentioned something about the film, there was an awkward silence before Trevor changed the subject. He simply didn’t want to know. Instead he talked at length about a paper published by a university colleague that he felt was based on an incorrect premise. He tried to get her to understand some small distinction but it seemed fairly trivial to her.

  ‘Wasn’t it peer-reviewed?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, by an imbecile! I can’t imagine what he was thinking.’ It had really got under his skin, and she sensed he felt threatened by this colleague, who had equal rank to Trevor but was known to have set his sights on the departmental chair when the present incumbent retired.

  During a brief pause, Diana tried to tell him about the extraordinary craftsmanship of the boats at Ischia, but she could tell he didn’t want to hear about them. He didn’t ask any questions. ‘I wish you would come out to visit some time,’ she said wistfully. ‘My room has such a lovely view over the rooftops and spires, and I still haven’t had a chance to explore the city properly. I’m saving it for when you come.’

  ‘Well, don’t hold your breath,’ Trevor said. ‘I hardly dare leave the department just now for fear of what I’ll find on my return.’

  She felt irritable that he wouldn’t even consider it. ‘In what way? Is all this worry because of one article by a colleague you don’t agree with? Surely it would be better to direct your energies into writing your own articles rather than criticising his?’

  ‘Is that a dig?’ Trevor’s voice rose. ‘I hope not, because the reason I’ve had less time to write up my research over the last three months is because I’ve had to rush out and buy food after lectures and come home to cook and clean. The chequebook ran out and its replacement got lost in the post so I had to find time to go to the bank when I needed money. I’m managing – don’t get me wrong – but you should be aware that while you were swanning around Rome’s hot spots, I wasn’t exactly sitting here with my feet up.’

  Diana felt another stab of guilt but brushed it aside. ‘Trevor, you managed before we were married. You’re very capable.’

  ‘I just want you to understand why I’m not further ahead with my research. Life has been a juggling act and compromises have had to be made.’ He turned away, seeming close to tears.

  Diana’s cheeks burned. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered.

  The words hung in the air between them, until Trevor stood up and scraped back his chair. ‘I think I’ll go to my study and mark some more essays,’ he said. ‘If I catch up tonight, I’ll be able to take more time off later in the holidays.’

  Diana rose to start the washing-up, feeling aggrieved. Why couldn’t he take time off the night she arrived back from three months away? How long was she to be punished for accepting a job that made her happier than she had ever been in her life? If he truly loved her, shouldn’t he be pleased for her?

  At nine o’clock, she made a cup of tea and took it to the study. ‘I’m sorry we quarrelled,’ she said. ‘I think that sherry before dinner must have gone to my head. I didn’t mean what I said. I’m sorry things have been so hard for you.’

  ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry too.’ He didn’t specify what for.

  She was first to go to bed later and she listened to the familiar sounds of Trevor’s bathroom rituals – the vigorous tooth-brushing, the spitting, a last wee. When he came to bed, he put his arm round her and let her rest her head on his chest, as they always did, but neither attempted to initiate sex. The distance between them seemed too great. After a while, he said ‘I’m rolling over’ and turned onto his side, the position in which he liked to sleep.

  Diana lay awake, wondering how she could make things better. She loved him and couldn’t face losing him. Without Trevor she would be entirely alone in the world. He was her anchor and, until recently, her best friend. Why couldn’t he show an interest in her new experiences? She was dying to share them but he’d erected a barrier that it was impossible to breach.

  ‘Trevor?’ she whispered.

  There was no reply, but she was pretty sure from his breathing that he was only pretending to be asleep.

  ‘Merry Christmas,’ she whispered into the distance between them. Tomorrow, she thought. Tomorrow I’ll make things right, no matter what it takes.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  On Christmas morning, as soon as she could sense he was awake, Diana began to stroke Trevor’s back through his flannelette pyjamas. He lay still, facing away from her. She began to rub his shoulders, which was one of their precursors to sex. Normally he would roll over and kiss her, but there seemed to be something wrong. When she reached her hand around, his penis hung completely limp between his legs. She kissed behind his ear and began to stroke him, trying to encourage an erection.

  Suddenly Trevor pulled away. ‘I’m afraid I have rather an upset stomach,’ he mumbled. ‘Excuse me.’

  He swung his legs out of bed, grabbed his dressing gown and went to the bathroom, where he locked the door. Diana lay, listening for a sign that he would return but there was silence. She wondered if the upset stomach was genuine or if he was still too upset with her to make love. He had never rejected her advances before.

  After a while
, when it became obvious he wasn’t coming back, she got up and went to the kitchen to make tea, her spirits heavy. She heard the bathroom door being unlocked, then he followed her down the passageway.

  ‘Merry Christmas, darling,’ he said, and they hugged, awkwardly, without letting any erogenous parts touch.

  ‘Let me get your presents,’ she said brightly. She’d wrapped them already: a new pipe and some special tobacco, a light blue sweater from Rinascente department store, his favourite type of marmalade and a box of Black Magic chocolates. He sat at the kitchen table and opened the parcels, making appreciative comments.

  Diana had bought a present for herself, as she always did, because Trevor claimed he didn’t want to waste money on the wrong thing. She produced the parcel, and smiled. ‘This is what you’re giving to me. Just the one present because it was rather expensive.’ She opened the paper and pulled out a black fur-trimmed crocodile-skin jacket, with a tie belt. It wasn’t her normal style but it looked so chic she hadn’t been able to resist.

  Trevor was surprised. ‘That’s unusual,’ he said doubtfully. ‘I thought black wasn’t your colour. But so long as you like it. In fact, I got you something myself.’ He pulled a paper package with a C&A logo from his dressing-gown pocket. She opened it and found a pair of soft leather gloves, cream in colour, similar to a pair she had left on a bus earlier that year. It was thoughtful of him to remember. In fact, she had stopped wearing gloves in Rome because no one else did. They now seemed as old-fashioned to her as swing skirts and headscarves. But how could Trevor have known that? She was touched he’d got her anything at all and resolved to wear them while in London.

  They kissed, said ‘Happy Christmas’ to each other and then she started preparing the turkey for the oven.

  Chad arrived at two-thirty and his presence provided a welcome distraction. He was big and lanky, with chestnut hair and a broad freckled face. He and Trevor had a playful relationship in which they teased each other about the differences between Britain and America.

  ‘Do you know, Chad thought his name was an original American one? I had to disabuse him and direct him to read about the seventh-century Anglo-Saxon bishop Chad of Mercia.’

  Chad grinned. ‘Is Mer-see-a another of those strange English places with misspelled names, like Gl-ow-cess-ter and Eddin-burra?’ He pronounced them phonetically. ‘Why don’t you just try to get the spellings right in the first place? Maybe you should invite an American over to correct them for you.’

  This was fuel to the fire and they had a lively debate which culminated in Trevor suggesting that Britain should recolonise the United States in order to teach them how to speak the English language correctly and how to understand irony. Chad retorted that England was a defunct colonialist power, and Trevor snorted at the fact that Americans mistakenly used the term ‘England’ rather than ‘United Kingdom’.

  Chad ate three helpings of Christmas dinner and Diana could tell he was having a good time. ‘Why don’t you stay over?’ she suggested when she heard he would have to walk several miles to his lodgings since the buses weren’t running. Having a third person there made it easier because there was no chance of uncomfortable topics being raised.

  They listened to a rather good play on the radio that evening and drank gin and orange, then Diana made up a bed for Chad and lent him a toothbrush.

  When she and Trevor got to bed, neither attempted to initiate sex. Diana felt hesitant about making the approach after her rejection that morning and was waiting for a sign from him that he felt up to it. It would be good to make love; it would make things feel normal again. But Trevor didn’t make any advances. Perhaps he felt inhibited with Chad next door. Instead they cuddled and chatted quietly about their plans for the following day. No mention was made of Diana’s imminent return to Rome, or Trevor’s colleague’s paper, or any subject that might threaten the equilibrium. They both wanted things to be fine and by striving to make it so, created an atmosphere that felt artificial and forced.

  On Boxing Day, after driving Chad back to his student accommodation, they visited Trevor’s parents. His sister was there with her three young children, and Trevor instantly became the fun uncle they could climb all over. Diana had a lump in her throat as she watched him ‘skin the rabbit’ with the littlest one by pulling her hands through her legs until she twirled round in a backwards somersault. He wanted children so badly and he’d be a great father; there was no question about it. It wasn’t fair of her to make him wait. As soon as she got back from Rome, they should begin trying again. Unfortunately, her period started while they were at the house and Trevor’s sister had to lend her a sanitary towel and belt. Diana told her the story of Liz Taylor’s dog needing one, and they both had a chuckle.

  For the rest of the holiday, Trevor and Diana steered clear of controversial topics. They visited friends for supper one evening, at which Diana carefully played down all mention of Rome, and on another evening they attended a recital at the Royal Academy of Music. Diana mended Trevor’s clothes and bought him some new ones in the post-Christmas sales. They were affectionate, and often held hands as they listened to the radio in the evening or cuddled up in bed, but her period precluded any love-making. Diana was glad, because when she looked at Trevor she didn’t feel desire. She enjoyed his company, but it still felt odd that he wouldn’t let her tell him anything about her role on the film set and this exciting new chapter in her life. Was this how their marriage would be from now on? Is that what marriage was like for other people: companionship without passion?

  The atmosphere became chillier as her departure date, the 4th of January, approached. Trevor shut himself in his study when she began to pack her case. She tried asking once more if he would join her for a weekend – or longer, if he could be spared – but he claimed it was entirely out of the question given his workload.

  On the morning of her departure, they stood with their arms around each other in the hall, her head on his shoulder, absorbing each other’s body warmth and inhaling the scent. She knew he felt sad and resentful that she was holding him back in his work, but she was hurt that he showed no interest in something that meant so much to her. Was that the behavi­­our of someone who loved her? Or had Trevor only cared about her when she was being the wife he wanted her to be? It felt like the end of an era.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Diana started crying as soon as the plane lifted off British soil and tears kept rolling down her cheeks throughout the flight. An air hostess brought her some paper handkerchiefs and a glass of water but that just made her cry more. Being so distant from Trevor was a form of bereavement. There were three more months before she would return home and she had no hope that he would relent and join her. He barely spoke when she telephoned him from Cinecittà. Once she got back to London, the distance between them would be even greater and she began to question how they would ever overcome it.

  It’s not over yet, she told herself. You can still save your marriage if you try your hardest.

  But she had been trying her hardest all Christmas and it had been a terrible strain. How could she stay with Trevor if he wouldn’t let her be herself and talk about the subjects she was interested in? How could she stay with him when she was no longer attracted to him? She wished there were someone wise she could discuss it with. If only her mother were alive; that’s what mothers were for. She had women friends in London, of course, but none of them knew there was the slightest question mark over her marriage and it would seem disloyal to say so. Many were married to friends of Trevor’s and she couldn’t risk word getting back to him. Maybe she would confide in Hilary if the moment arose, but Hilary was always frightfully busy.

  The flight landed at Leonardo da Vinci airport at four in the afternoon and she made her way through to arrivals, expecting to see one of the studio drivers. Instead, there was Ernesto, standing with a cheeky grin and holding a card with her name on it.

  ‘Mrs Bailey? Your car is waiting,’ he said in a mock-form
al voice.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ she laughed.

  He noted her red swollen eyes and pulled her in for a hug. ‘I was trying to make up for the fact that no one met you last time you arrived, but now I have a second mission. I am going to take you for some Bellinis to cheer you up. No arguments now.’

  ‘I wasn’t going to argue. I’d love a drink,’ she said.

  He drove her to Trastevere, a district of narrow twisting streets and pretty church squares that she hadn’t visited before. The bar he pulled up in front of wasn’t grand. Empty beer casks served as tables, with small leather stools to sit on, and every inch of wall space was covered in drawings, many of them nudes.

  ‘Artists swap them for a drink when they run out of money,’ Ernesto explained. ‘It’s an old European tradition.’

  She gulped thirstily at her first Bellini and Ernesto raised his finger to order another round. By halfway down the second glass, Diana found herself telling him about her Christmas. She was careful not to exaggerate the difficulties and grateful that Ernesto let her talk rather than leaping in with his own opinions, but when she had finished he simply said ‘Your husband sounds like a fool.’

  His words made Diana start to cry. ‘But I love him,’ she sobbed. ‘I do.’

  Ernesto put his arm around her and pulled her head to his shoulder. ‘You deserve someone who loves you with passion, someone who will do whatever it takes to make you happy. I think you will find that person if you just allow yourself to look.’

  ‘I can’t think about finding someone else when I’m married. Why is everything so complicated?’

  The barman brought them each a bowl of pasta, with forks rolled in serviettes, and Diana was surprised because she hadn’t thought it was a restaurant.