A Question of Guilt(18)

Mum was right, I thought – he did speak to her in a patronizing way, as if he was talking to someone less bright, less informed, than he was. And it struck me, too, how incongruous he looked sitting there at the gnarled and marked old table in his perfectly ironed black denims, pristine open-necked shirt, leather jacket and shoes polished to a blindingly bright shine. He got up as I came in, and greeted me with a chaste kiss of the sort he deemed suitable with Mum hovering. He smelled of the expensive duty-free aftershave he always used; once that scent had made me go soft inside but now it left me cold.

‘Sorry I wasn’t ready,’ I said.

‘It wouldn’t be you if you had been, Sally,’ Tim said. Though he was smiling, pretending to tease, I sensed that the underlying criticism was real enough.

‘So, are you going to go out somewhere?’ Mum asked – hopefully, I thought. ‘It’s a nice day. It would be a shame to waste it.’

She was right – it was a nice day, the sun shining, the sky a clean-washed blue that had the promise of spring. But I still couldn’t manage to walk very far, and even had I been able to, Tim’s highly polished shoes were not really suited for trekking along the muddy lane.

‘Suppose we drive up to Deer Leap?’ I suggested. Tim cracked a questioning eyebrow, and I explained. ‘It’s only about half an hour from here, and there are some fantastic views. It gets quite busy in the summer, but on a Friday at this time of year I wouldn’t imagine there would be too many other people about.’

The sort of place where we can talk undisturbed . . .

‘And there are plenty of nice country pubs where we can get a drink and a spot of lunch if we feel like it.’

If we feel like it being the operative phrase . . .

‘Good idea,’ Mum said, and I guessed she was relieved she wouldn’t have Tim turning up his nose at her scratch lunch of hearty soup or the remains of the weekend roast.

While Tim was finishing his coffee, I got my coat. My heart had come into my mouth at the prospect of saying what I’d more or less decided needed to be said and my nerves were twanging. We set out in his Audi with Classic FM playing on the radio, and when Tim asked me what I’d been up to I told him a little about my investigations, but my voice didn’t sound entirely natural and it was difficult to summon any enthusiasm for the subject that had been consuming me with the conversation we needed to have hanging over me. I wondered if Tim would notice I wasn’t my usual self, but when I gave him a sideways glance I had the oddest impression that he wasn’t really listening to what I was saying.

Deer Leap is a high spot on the Mendips, a broad parking area overlooking a beautiful valley, with paths angling off along the crest of the hill. There was no way we could walk them today, though – they were accessed by stiles in the drystone walls that bordered the parking area that I would have struggled to manage, and in any case, the fields beyond would still be soggy from the recent rain. Instead we remained in the car, parked to give us a panoramic view of the valley below.

Right, I thought – this was it. No more putting it off. Time to take the bull by the horns.

‘Tim,’ I said, ‘we need to talk. About us.’

There was a silence. I glanced at Tim. He wasn’t looking at me, but still staring out at the view. He was chewing his lip and there were lines of tension in his face, as if he sensed what I was going to say. Then he reached across, switched off the radio, and turned towards me.

‘I know we do. I’m really sorry, Sally. I’ve been neglecting you, haven’t I?’

‘I realize it’s been difficult. With your job and everything, and me not able to lead a normal life.’ I was trying to do this gently, to avoid recriminations and bad feeling if at all possible. ‘I do understand that, Tim . . .’

‘You do?’ His eyes snapped up to mine. There was an expression in them that puzzled me.

‘Yes, of course I do. But . . .’

But it’s not just that, I was going to say. It’s all kinds of other things as well . . .

I never got the chance.

‘I am truly sorry,’ Tim said again, and it occurred to me suddenly that he was apologizing rather too much for simply not coming to visit me as much as he might have done.

‘Tim, there’s no need . . .’

‘There’s every need. I should have confessed a long time ago. But with you in the state you were, I couldn’t bring myself to upset you. It didn’t seem right.’

I frowned. ‘What are you talking about?’

His eyes fell away again, his fingers played with the knob of the gearstick. By the time he looked at me again I had a pretty good idea what he was going to say.