reason, had never grown up. For a little, perhaps, she had loved Alec, but she had never wanted a child, had never experienced the accepted maternal instincts of other young mothers. As soon as humanly possible, she had returned to her original love. That was why she had made him buy Deepbrook. That was, basically, why Gabriel had been sent away to school.
Now, her life revolved around horses. They were the centre of her life, all she truly cared about. And the people who became her new friends were the people who rode them.
Two months after this weekend, on a dark, wet evening in November, Alec drove back to Islington from the city at the end of the day, expecting as usual to find his house empty. He had made no plans for the night and was glad of this, because his briefcase bulged with reading matter that he had had no time to deal with during the day, and there was a directors' meeting planned for the next day, during which he would be expected to make some well-studied pronouncement. He would have his meal early, then light the fire, put on his spectacles, and settle down to work.
He turned at last out of the City Road and into his own street, Abigail Crescent. His house stood at the far end, and he saw the light shining from its windows. Erica, for some reason, had come up to London.
He was puzzled by this. The weather was bad and he knew that her social diary was empty for most of the week. A dentist's appointment perhaps, or a yearly check-up with her doctor in Harley Street?
He parked the car and sat, staring at the lighted house. He had grown accustomed to being alone, but he had never truly come to terms with it. He remembered when they had first come to live here, fresh from Hong Kong, before Gabriel was born. He remembered Erica arranging furniture and hanging curtains and struggling with huge books of carpet samples, but always finding time to come and greet him as he let himself in through the door. That was how it had been. For only a little time, maybe, but that was how it had been. For a moment he let himself imagine that the years between had never happened, that everything was unchanged. Perhaps this time she would come to greet him, kiss him, go into the kitchen to fix him a drink. They would sit with their drinks and exchange the small gossip and doings of their day, and then he would ring some restaurant and take her out for dinner. . . .
The shining windows stared back at him. He was suddenly tired. He closed his eyes, covered them with his hand, as though to wipe fatigue away. After a little he collected his briefcase off the back seat and got out of the car, locked it, and walked across the rain-soaked pavement, with his bulky briefcase bumping against his knee. He got out his key and opened the door.
He saw her coat, slung across the hall chair, a silk Hermes scarf. He smelled her perfume. He closed the door and put down his briefcase.
'Erica.'
He went into the sitting room, and she was there, sitting in an armchair, facing him. She had been reading a paper, but now she folded this and dropped it on the floor beside her. She was wearing a yellow sweater, a grey wool skirt, and long brown leather boots. Her hair, illuminated by the reading lamp that she had lighted, shone like a polished chestnut. She said, 'Hi.'
'This is a surprise. I didn't know you were coming up.'
‘I thought about telephoning your office, but there didn't seem much point. I knew you'd be here.'
'For a moment I thought I'd forgotten about some dinner party or other. I haven't, have I?'
'No. There's nothing on. I just wanted to talk to you.'
This was unusual. 'Would you like a drink?' he asked her.
'Yes. If you're having one.'
'What would you like?'
'A whisky would be fine.'
He left her and went into the kitchen and poured the drinks and manhandled ice cubes out of the tray, then carried the two glasses back to where she waited.
He handed her the glass. There's not much food in the fridge, I'm afraid, but if you
Now, her life revolved around horses. They were the centre of her life, all she truly cared about. And the people who became her new friends were the people who rode them.
Two months after this weekend, on a dark, wet evening in November, Alec drove back to Islington from the city at the end of the day, expecting as usual to find his house empty. He had made no plans for the night and was glad of this, because his briefcase bulged with reading matter that he had had no time to deal with during the day, and there was a directors' meeting planned for the next day, during which he would be expected to make some well-studied pronouncement. He would have his meal early, then light the fire, put on his spectacles, and settle down to work.
He turned at last out of the City Road and into his own street, Abigail Crescent. His house stood at the far end, and he saw the light shining from its windows. Erica, for some reason, had come up to London.
He was puzzled by this. The weather was bad and he knew that her social diary was empty for most of the week. A dentist's appointment perhaps, or a yearly check-up with her doctor in Harley Street?
He parked the car and sat, staring at the lighted house. He had grown accustomed to being alone, but he had never truly come to terms with it. He remembered when they had first come to live here, fresh from Hong Kong, before Gabriel was born. He remembered Erica arranging furniture and hanging curtains and struggling with huge books of carpet samples, but always finding time to come and greet him as he let himself in through the door. That was how it had been. For only a little time, maybe, but that was how it had been. For a moment he let himself imagine that the years between had never happened, that everything was unchanged. Perhaps this time she would come to greet him, kiss him, go into the kitchen to fix him a drink. They would sit with their drinks and exchange the small gossip and doings of their day, and then he would ring some restaurant and take her out for dinner. . . .
The shining windows stared back at him. He was suddenly tired. He closed his eyes, covered them with his hand, as though to wipe fatigue away. After a little he collected his briefcase off the back seat and got out of the car, locked it, and walked across the rain-soaked pavement, with his bulky briefcase bumping against his knee. He got out his key and opened the door.
He saw her coat, slung across the hall chair, a silk Hermes scarf. He smelled her perfume. He closed the door and put down his briefcase.
'Erica.'
He went into the sitting room, and she was there, sitting in an armchair, facing him. She had been reading a paper, but now she folded this and dropped it on the floor beside her. She was wearing a yellow sweater, a grey wool skirt, and long brown leather boots. Her hair, illuminated by the reading lamp that she had lighted, shone like a polished chestnut. She said, 'Hi.'
'This is a surprise. I didn't know you were coming up.'
‘I thought about telephoning your office, but there didn't seem much point. I knew you'd be here.'
'For a moment I thought I'd forgotten about some dinner party or other. I haven't, have I?'
'No. There's nothing on. I just wanted to talk to you.'
This was unusual. 'Would you like a drink?' he asked her.
'Yes. If you're having one.'
'What would you like?'
'A whisky would be fine.'
He left her and went into the kitchen and poured the drinks and manhandled ice cubes out of the tray, then carried the two glasses back to where she waited.
He handed her the glass. There's not much food in the fridge, I'm afraid, but if you
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