Errors of Judgment(68)

Rachel stood on the edge of the commotion, uncertain what to do. Felicity was getting unsteadily to her feet. Rachel went over to her. ‘Come on,’ she murmured, ‘you don’t have to stay here if you don’t want to. Let him look after himself.’

Felicity gave her a stunned, frantic look. ‘I can’t just leave him! Look at the state of him!’

At that moment three bar staff waded in, grabbing hold of Vince and his assailant, and hustling them both towards the back entrance. Felicity went after them. Rachel watched her go.

Sarah sat by the window in the half-darkness, staring across the river at the glimmering lights of Canary Wharf, waiting for Toby. One small lamp cast a muted pool of light in a far corner of the room. Her heart felt numb. She was about to inflict a terrible injury on someone to whom she had once – almost – been prepared to give her whole life. She couldn’t feel sorry for him. He was lucky to be making his escape. She had pretended not only to him, but to herself, that she loved him enough to marry him, simply because it meant a life of relative ease and prosperity, and freedom from certain kinds of menial cares. But take away those pleasing prospects, and the affection she felt simply wasn’t enough. She had been put to the test, and found utterly wanting. She had never felt less capable of love in her life.

She picked up her gin and tonic from the black lacquer coffee table and took a sip, thinking that a bit more self-reproach and spiritual abasement might be in order. But she’d done enough of that. She needed to move on, calculate the likely fallout with Toby’s family, and with her father.

Then the sound she had been dreading all day interrupted her thoughts. She heard Toby’s key in the door, the sound of it opening and closing, the thump of his overnight bag on the hall floor. His tall figure appeared in the doorway, silhouetted against the glow of light from the hall. He stood there a few seconds, accustoming his eyes to the gloom.

‘There you are.’ He crossed the room. ‘What are you doing sitting in the dark?’ She said nothing. He gazed at her for a moment, then sat down on the sofa, but not next to her. Something in her silence, perhaps in her tense posture, put him on his guard.

Sarah swallowed the remains of her gin and tonic, and set the glass down. ‘How was your weekend?’ she asked.

‘Excellent. Always gratifying to beat the Scots. Paul’s wife and Alan’s girlfriend came along. They went shopping on Princes Street. You should come next time.’

‘Be a WAG, you mean.’

Toby laughed uncertainly. ‘Well, it’s a weekend away. I just thought, if other people take their wives …’ He decided to leave the subject, and leant over to pick up her empty glass. ‘Another?’

‘Thanks.’

‘Think I’ll join you.’ He stood up and went to the drinks cupboard. Sarah wondered if he was as aware as she was of the level of tension in the air. She had no way of behaving normally. It was merely a question now of getting from A, this instant moment, to B, the point at which she would put on her coat, pick up the bag that was already packed and sitting in the bedroom, and leave.

Toby uncapped the gin bottle and poured drinks. ‘Annabel was down for the weekend,’ he remarked. Annabel was Toby’s younger sister, already earmarked as a bridesmaid. ‘Mummy was trying to persuade her to suggest some colour or other for the bridesmaids’ dresses. Annabel said she should leave it up to you and stop interfering.’

Sarah could think of nothing to say. Toby brought the drinks over and sat down, still keeping a distance between them, but stretching out an arm along the back of the sofa. He stroked her hair, and asked, ‘You OK?’

Sarah took a swallow of her drink. ‘No. Not really.’ She waited for him to ask what was wrong, but he didn’t. When he lifted his glass, it was almost like a defensive movement. Sarah wondered for a fleeting instant if he suspected, or guessed what was coming. If he did, he wasn’t going to help her out. She had to continue. ‘I’m afraid something happened this weekend.’

He turned to look at her. ‘What do you mean?’

She looked down at her glass, which she was clutching between both hands in her lap. ‘Saying it like that makes it sound as though it was out of my control. But it wasn’t. It didn’t just happen. It was something I did.’

Toby set his drink down sharply on the table. ‘For God’s sake—’

She carried on quickly, not letting him speak, just wanting it to be told, out of the way, the hellish moment over. ‘I slept with Leo Davies. On Friday. After Grand Night. I wasn’t drunk. I wasn’t anything. I did it because I wanted to.’ She had wondered earlier if she would have to try to manufacture tears, but they came naturally. Saying it out loud charged her with genuine, ice-cold guilt, and she began to cry. ‘I did it, and it changes everything.’