style="font-size:15px;"> ‘Are you here to see Michael?’
‘I was just on my way to the spa, and seeing as I was passing I thought I might pop in, say hello. Bring him some lunch. Is he in his office?’
‘I think he’s just finishing a lecture, but he’s due back any minute now. He’s got tutorials this lunchtime. Can I get you a coffee? A cup of tea?’
‘No, thank you. I’m fine. I’ll just wait, if that’s okay.’
‘Of course it is … Oh, speak of the devil. Here he is.’
I turn to see Michael stride through the door, his expression a mixture of surprise tinged with something else – is that anger? But then his expression quickly changes and he smiles at me, that easy-going smile I’m all-too familiar with. He wasn’t quick enough. I can tell he’s using that smile to mask something; whatever it is he’s hiding from me.
I know what you’re doing, Michael. I’m your wife. Remember?
‘Darling? What are you doing here?’ He takes a step towards me, leans in and gently plants a kiss on my cheek, that smile still there on his handsome face.
‘I was on my way to the spa and I just thought I’d pop in and bring you some lunch, seeing as you missed breakfast this morning.’
His eyes meet mine. It feels as if he’s searching my soul. ‘Sue, can you stick the kettle on, please?’
‘Of course. Are you sure you don’t want anything, Ellie?’
‘I’m fine, thank you.’
Michael nudges his office door open with his shoulder. ‘I’ve got tutorials in a few minutes. Did you want to see me about anything in particular?’
‘I was just passing. I thought it might be nice to drop by and say hello, that’s all. Does there have to be a reason for your wife to pop in and see you?’
He glances over at Sue, but she’s in the kitchen area chatting to April, one of the other secretaries. They can’t hear us.
‘It’s just not something you make a habit of. It never has been.’
‘Do you want me to leave?’
I can’t stop the slightly irritated edge to my tone and he narrows his eyes as he looks at me.
‘No, Ellie, I don’t want you to leave. But I don’t have a lot of time. Like I said, I have tutorials.’
Sue comes back over and hands Michael his coffee, his face breaking into a smile as he takes the mug from her.
‘Thank you, Sue.’
He turns his attention back to me.
‘Come inside. I’ve got a few minutes to spare before my first student gets here.’
I follow him into his office and close the door behind me. He puts down the pile of folders and books he was carrying and leans back against his desk, folding his arms, his eyes boring into mine.
I don’t think he wants me here, and I know why. But I’m not going anywhere, yet.
I go over to him, take hold of his shirt collar, my lips brushing the side of his neck as I lean in to him. ‘You said you had a few minutes,’ I murmur, sliding a hand around the back of his neck, my fingers playing with his hair, stroking his skin.
He lets out a low groan as I press myself against him, drops his hand to my bottom as I kiss him. It doesn’t take much, Michael, does it?
‘Do you remember those days when you’d come visit me at work, at the salon?’ I whisper, as his fingers dig into my thigh, push me harder against him. ‘You’d meet me for lunch but we’d always end up never leaving my office. Remember?’ I push his head back slightly so I can look at him, look right into those beautiful blue eyes. ‘Those days when we couldn’t keep our hands off each other. I miss those days. Don’t you?’
His hand slides up under my dress and I gasp quietly as he touches me, as his lips brush the base of my throat, his thumb stroking my inner thigh.
He takes hold of my hips and swings me around, pushes me back against his desk. I wind my fingers in his hair and pull him down. I kiss him. I breathe him in because I love him. My husband. My husband.
I wrap my legs around him, feel his hand on my lower back push me against him, and then, almost as if a switch has been flicked, he steps back from me, drops his gaze for a second or two. And when he raises it I can see how on edge he is now.
‘What’s all this about, Ellie?’
‘What’s all this about?’ I frown, but his expression doesn’t waver. ‘When did stopping by your office become something you’re suspicious of?’
‘It isn’t, I just …’ He sighs quietly and pushes a hand back through his hair. ‘It just isn’t what you do. Bringing me lunch, dropping by to say hello. That isn’t what you do. You’ve never done that, so why now?’
‘Now I have a business not fifteen minutes away from your office, Michael.’
I watch as his expression turns from one of suspicion to one of guilt, almost. But he still wants me to leave. He isn’t making a secret of that. It’s written all over his face. He wants me to go. But that only makes me more determined to go through with this, because I need to know now. I need to fucking know.
‘Look, Ellie, I know things have been a bit strained lately …’
He leaves that sentence hanging and I almost laugh at his simplified summing up of the past few months. He thinks things have been strained lately? Things have been strained for a long time now; he just chooses to ignore that fact. But I don’t want him to be suspicious of anything, not now. I can’t risk that. If he thinks I’m being irrational or that my behaviour is changing – if he is hiding something, that would only alert him to that fact, give him a chance to cover his tracks. And I need to know if something’s going on. I need to know if there’s something – someone – standing in the way of me getting through to my husband. Something that threatens us. I need to know that. I need to make sure history doesn’t repeat itself, because he sure as hell isn’t doing that. I have a mission now, something to focus on, something that’s giving me back a little bit of that control I felt I was losing.
‘Anyway, I really need to prepare for this tutorial …’ He slides his hands into his pockets and walks behind his desk, firing up his laptop, ‘and I’m sure there are things you need to be getting on with.’
I watch him for a few seconds, his gaze dropping to the laptop screen, and then he checks his watch and I’m sensing a slight hint of irritation coming from him now. He really does want me to go, right now. Is there a reason for that? Is it guilt? More guilt? He doesn’t want me to come face to face with this student who’s about to turn up here, at his office, for their lunchtime tutorial, is that it? Is that why he wants me gone? Because his body language, Jesus, it’s screaming at me to leave.
‘Yes. You’re right, there are lots of things I need to be getting on with.’
I
