Goodbye to an Old Friend by Brian Freemantle

the feeling between the two women. He felt like a Peeping Tom.
    â€˜Oh, do sit down,’ she said. ‘Has Anita offered you a drink? Some brandy? Or some wine perhaps? We’ve got some in the fridge.’
    At Eton Adrian had twice a year gone to tea in his housemaster’s study and been served slightly burned scones and weak tea by the man’s wife.
    She had recognized his shyness and favoured him just slightly above the other boys, giving him, just once every six months, thirty minutes of favoured attention, listening to him intently, as if what he said mattered, drawing opinions from him and then deferring to them and Adrian had thought she was the most wonderful woman in the world. He found himself comparing her to the blonde woman before him.
    â€˜Yes … no,’ said Adrian, blushing under the attention. ‘She’s offered me a drink, but I refused …’
    â€˜Are you sure?’
    â€˜Adrian doesn’t want to put us to any inconvenience, not even one duty glass,’ said Anita, the jeer quite clear.
    â€˜Do stop it, Anita,’ said Anne. She turned to Adrian. ‘Did you have any difficulty finding the flat?’ she said, pleasantly. ‘We gave a housewarming the other night and some people took hours to get here.’
    Just like the housemaster’s tea party. A cosy room, pleasant, easily handled small talk, like a friendly game of table tennis where you lob the ball over the net towards the other person’s bat.
    â€˜No, not really. I thought it was quite easy,’ said Adrian. They’d probably discuss the weather and that year’s holiday, he thought. He controlled a snigger at the stupidity of it, the social conversation with his wife’s lover. Unasked, Anita poured a brandy and took it to the other girl, who accepted it without thanks, acknowledging a well established ritual. For a few seconds they looked at one another and Adrian felt an interloper again.
    â€˜We’re going to have some supper in a while,’ said Anne, turning back to him. ‘Why don’t you stay?’
    â€˜Thank you, that’s very kind …’ began Adrian, but his wife cut in. ‘But he can’t,’ said Anita. ‘He’s already eaten and couldn’t manage another thing.’
    â€˜Yes,’ agreed Adrian, reminded. ‘I’ve already eaten. And I have a couple of things to do tonight.’
    His stomach yawned at the thought of food.
    Anita is enjoying my discomfort, thought Adrian, suddenly. The bitch is gloating, happy at her odd security, enjoying my crumpled suit and filthy shirt and knowing I haven’t eaten. She probably even guesses there weren’t any eggs for breakfast.
    â€˜You’re staring at me,’ grinned Anne and if he had been unaware of the circumstances, Adrian would have said she was flirting with him.
    â€˜Oh, I’m sorry,’ he said, flushing and regretting it. Anita suddenly became aware of the exchange and Adrian saw her go white. He wondered if Anne were playing some odd sort of love game.
    Anita began to talk, trying to reduce her husband before the other woman.
    â€˜Adrian at his best,’ she said, ‘apologizing.’ Anne said nothing, merely holding up an empty glass which Anita hurriedly took from her and refilled. Adrian realized that despite her apparent femininity, Anne was the dominant character. Oddly, he felt regret.
    â€˜I think I’d better get going,’ he said.
    â€˜Oh, really,’ said Anne. ‘Surely you can stay on a little longer? Why not change your mind and have a meal?’
    â€˜He has to go,’ said Anita, the jealousy obvious.
    To her Adrian said, ‘You’ll let me have the address of a solicitor?’
    It occurred to him that it would have been easier for them to arrange the whole thing by letter. It had been Anita who had insisted on the meeting and he suddenly realized she had purposely schemed his humiliation