Stone Cold Red Hot - страница 55

It’s only a mile or so to Didsbury, more upmarket than Withington with some very expensive properties. The last couple of years had seen lots of development, new supermarkets, a plethora of restaurants and cafe bars and of course lots of new houses crammed into the old Waterfords Dairy site to bring in some customers for all the leisure outlets.

It took me longer to get all my clobber on and then off and lock up the bike and remove the lights than it did to make the journey.

The bar Diane had chosen was already heaving. One look at it and I wanted to leave but she’d already bought me a drink and managed to find a table in a corner by the toilets. Most of the clientele preferred to stand, presumably to show off their designer gear and to spot the talent. Most of them were fresh-faced and full of life, I don’t know how many of them were old enough to drink legally.

“I thought it’d only be like this at weekends,” Diane apologised. We had to lean close to each other to talk, the noise was tremendous.

“So, how was it?”

She smiled but it was hard for me to read it. At least she wasn’t crying. Which is what I remember her doing a lot of the last time Ben had been in the picture.

“Good,” she nodded. “I’d forgotten how much he made me laugh. We had a wonderful Thai meal the first night and the next day I did some galleries. Oh, and I met this buyer, very interested in my work. I promised I’d send her some slides. Ben had a meeting in the morning but we met for lunch and then he took me shopping.”

I studied her. Had some alien invaded Diane’s body (apart from Ben)? Since when did anybody ‘take’ Diane shopping? She sounded like a Stepford wife. “He wanted to treat me,” she went on, “it was like one of those 40’s films, you know, with Gary Grant waiting for the dame in the posh ladies dress emporium.”

I envisaged the scene. All peach drapes and soft carpets and huge mirrors. Diane, surrounded by starlet sylphs in silk camisoles. Diane with her inky fingers, her wild hair-styles, her Doc Martens and her size 20 frame.

“What did you get?”

“These.” She turned her ankle to show me an electric blue Doc Marten. Phew.

“And a gorgeous chenille top and a full length dress, indigo crushed velvet.”

“Go well with the Docs.”

She grinned and leant closer, “And some very sexy underwear.” She rolled her eyes.

“So you slept with him,” I said bluntly.

“Yes. And it was great.”

“And now?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “He’s getting married. We haven’t made any plans.” She seemed blase about it but I felt uncomfortable.

“So it was just a final fling?”

“It wasn’t just anything,” her eyes flashed. “Stop being so bloody uptight. We met, we talked, there was a lot of unfinished business. It was good to have a chance to talk it over. And, yes, we went to bed together. He’s not married yet, you know.”

“Diane, how would you feel if you were getting married to someone and they went off in search of an ex-lover for a last screw?”

She looked at me steadily. “She’ll never know. We’re all grown up, Sal.”

Doesn’t mean you always act like it, though. “Will you see him again?”

She shrugged.

“And that’s OK?”

Even with the racket all around us, I could hear her silence; loud like an alarm. She wanted him, she’d lost him but now she would settle for this, the odd visit every year or so. I couldn’t bear it. She’d be like the mistresses featured in documentaries; never having the important times, never the whole night, the holiday, always a secret, always waiting. I wanted her to be strong and independent, like she usually was, not to compromise one iota. I thought of Mrs Shuttle and her miserable affair with Frank Pickering. Secrecy. Didn’t seem to bring much happiness.

I swerved the conversation away, told her about my bust-up with Ray. We agreed that all I could do was ask him directly for a time to talk, about the house, about the future.

We had finished our drinks. I struggled to the bar, waited impatiently to be served and did a double-take at the cost.

I put the drinks down. “And I had my car nicked.”

“Oh, no. From home?”