clad from the get go.’
‘Right. Of course.’
Theo felt a momentary stab of guilt, but quickly banished it from his mind. In the two weeks since Sasha had first showed him her theory, he’d worked on it so tirelessly and with such all-consuming passion, correcting even the tiniest errors, improving and polishing the text until it flowed like molten gold, that he’d almost come to believe it really was his work. Yes, Sasha had produced the original spark that inspired him – a spark that his teaching had so patiently nurtured and encouraged in her. But it was he, Theo Dexter, who had transformed that spark into this: a volcanic eruption of genius that had Ed Gilliam sitting across the table, eating out of his hands.
This is your theory, Theo. We need to make that iron clad. And they would. Ed Gilliam’s fleet of top lawyers would protect him. They’d know what to do if Sasha got nasty. But she wouldn’t, would she?
Just at that moment, Theo’s phone buzzed to life on the table. He grabbed it, read the text and quickly deleted it.
‘Nothing important, I hope?’ asked Ed.
‘No. Go on.’
Ed did, but Theo was beginning to find it hard to concentrate. The text was from Sasha, her third today. Even without the added pressure of the theory (mentally Theo had stopped referring to it as Sasha’s theory) strains in the affair were starting to show. In the beginning Sasha had been wonderful, adoring in the way that only very young women ever were. The sex had been incredible too. That combination of innocence, desire and total malleability were a huge aphrodisiac, especially for an ego as rampant but fragile as Theo’s. But as time wore on the dynamic between them inevitably shifted. Sasha might be young but she was far from stupid. Recently she’d started to question him more and more about Theresa, the state of his marriage and the future – their future. It had reached the point where Theo had been actively looking forward to the summer break. Not that he wanted to end things with Sasha. At least, not until a more attractive prospect came along. But the last thing he needed in his life was a second ‘marriage’, the sort of complicated, emotional relationship he had with Theresa.
Oddly, things were better with Theresa sexually than they had been in years. Perhaps it was his affair with Sasha that had given him a new lease of life? Or perhaps agreeing to IVF had unleashed a passionate gratitude in Theresa that translated to a whole lot more fun between the sheets? Either way, Theo found himself irritated by Sasha’s endless, needy phone calls from Sussex, and actively looking forward to going home tonight and sharing today’s triumph with Ed Gilliam with his wife. Theresa’s body might not have the youthful perfection of Sasha’s, but she knew what turned him on. Sometimes it was a relief not to have to be the teacher.
‘So you can make it? Tomorrow afternoon, Berkeley Square? To meet with the lawyers? The press release?’
With a jolt Theo realized that Ed Gilliam was still talking.
‘Oh, yes, yes. Of course.’ He smiled. ‘I’ll write something up tonight.’
I’ve waited so long for this. My entire career. It’s time to get this show on the road.
A week later, Sasha was sitting on the sofa in her parents’ living room flipping through yesterday’s copy of the Sunday Times Style Magazine.
Mrs Mills answers your problems
Dear Mrs Mills,
I’ve been seeing a married, older man for nearly a year now. He claims he loves me, but during a recent separation he’s barely returned my calls. What should I do?
Yours,
Desperate of Vrant
Dear Desperate,
If he loved you he’d call you back. Or even visit. Why are you being such a moron? Why are you letting this man take over your life? If he cheats on his wife he ‘11 cheat on you. Once a liar, always a liar…
As hard as she tried to shake them, the voices in Sasha’s head would not go away. Something was wrong. She’d dreaded the long summer holiday for ages, but not even in her worst nightmares had she pictured such a rapid unravelling of whatever it was that she and Theo had together. They used to talk at Cambridge, about everything. Life. The universe. She could live without the lovemaking. But the lack of communication was killing her.
‘Are you sure you won’t try the blue one? It’s a perfect colour on you, Sash.’ Her mother had tried vainly to interest her in a shopping expedition in Tunbridge Wells that afternoon. They were in Hooper’s department store, looking for a dress for Sasha’s cousin’s wedding. A wedding. That’s all I bloody need.
‘Sure, I’ll try it. But you pick, OK, Mum? You know I’ve got no head for fashion.’
In the changing room, she jumped for joy when she got a new text from Theo. But as soon as she read it: ‘Cnt tlk now. 2mr, OK?’ she was plunged back into depths of despair she hadn’t known she was capable of. She’d tried everything to put him out of her mind, going riding, spending time with school friends who knew nothing about her Cambridge life, even sorting out her bedroom, alphabetizing her CD collection and colour coding her knicker drawer in an attempt to create some feeling of order and control over her own life. But I’m not in control. I’m out of control. I’m turning into a stalker!
Just before supper that night – her favourite Moroccan lamb and homemade strawberry ice cream; Mum was pulling all the stops out to try and cheer her up – Sasha called Georgia.
‘The summer’s so long. I’m missing St Michael’s more than I thought I would,’ she admitted. Not able to tell her friend about Theo, she hoped Georgia would read between the lines and offer some sympathy. ‘Do you find that?’
‘Not really’ Sasha could hear the sound of laughter in the background. A student party. How long was it since she’d been to one of those? Let her hair down with people her own age? ‘A lot of the gang from college were in Turkey two weeks ago. You should have come.’
Maybe I should have.
‘Josie and Danny are here now. D’you want to say hi?’
Sasha said hi, but she hung up the phone feeling even more lonely than she had before. We’ve grown apart. Even me and Georgia. We used to be so close.
Seeing his daughter on the couch, lost in thought, Don Miller turned on the TV. He could see she was upset, but long experience had taught him that distraction was a safer bet than the dreaded ‘talking’ when it came to women’s problems.
‘Only Fools and Horses, Gardeners’ World or Law & Order?’ he asked cheerfully.
‘Hmmm? Oh, I don’t mind, Dad. Whatever.’
Don plumped for Law & Order. Sasha tried to focus on the twisting plot and the laboured tension of the detectives’ banter, but it was a losing battle. She didn’t even notice when Don switched over to the ten o’clock BBC news until her mother walked in and asked her a question about the Middle East. A few seconds later, however, and the TV had Sasha’s full attention.
‘Isn’t that your professor, love?
