I hesitated. Did I really need any more estate agents in my life?

"Couldn't you give me just a rough idea?"

"Hm." He chewed a fingernail. "Tell you what-I'll drive past on my way home tonight and take a look."

"Thanks. I'll give you a ring tomorrow. Thanks, Damian."

"How did you know...?"

I quickly made for the door.

When I phoned Damian the next morning, I was even more convinced that he wasn't involved in the dirty tricks. He wouldn't give me a valuation, but he said, "A big site like that in the heart of Highbury-it has development potential. You're talking millions. You'll have to speak to Mr Wilson."

"I don't think my aunty would want it to be developed. But thank you for your help."

I hung up quickly before he could ask me any questions.

If Damian wasn't involved, that meant it must be Wolfe & Diabello. Rage was burning in my head. I tried to calm myself down with Ms Baddiel's breathing exercises. In-two-three-four. Out In-two-three-four. Out - -two-three-four. Wolfe & Diabello. What a pair of gobs.h.i.tes. I phoned the office-my hands were shaking so much I got a couple of wrong numbers before I finally got through. Neither of the partners was there. I left a message with Suzi Brentwood.

"Please can you get one of them to ring me back. No, I can't say what it's about. Just tell them I know what's going on. Tell them they're a couple of sleazy double-crossing crooks."

It was Mark Diabello who phoned me back, within ten minutes.

"I got your message, Georgina. Strong language. What did we do to upset you?"

"It's not what you did, it's what I did. I got another valuation."

"So you should, Georgina. And?"

"And he said it was a development site with potential. He said it could be worth several millions."

"Who said that?"

"Somebody. Somebody from Hendricks's."

"The office junior? They always make wild guesses."

"No. Someone highly qualified. And reputable. Not a conman like you."

"You're a very emotional woman, Georgina. I like that. But you've forgotten what I said."

"What did you say?"

"I said I'd match any genuine valuation."

Had he said that? It's true, I'd forgotten.

"But the other one-your sidekick-he offered her two million."

"I can't speak for my partner. But I said I'd match their valuation. I think you owe me an apology, Georgina."

"I owe owe you you an apology?" an apology?"

I put the phone down. I was shaking. Then I thought back over our previous conversations. Yes, maybe I'd been a bit hasty. Even a bit rude. I remembered now, he had had said something about matching Hendricks & Wilson's valuation, but that had been in a different context. And it's true, Damian did seem to be the office junior. But what he'd said rang true. Actually, what all of them said rang true. That was the trouble. How was I to know who to believe? said something about matching Hendricks & Wilson's valuation, but that had been in a different context. And it's true, Damian did seem to be the office junior. But what he'd said rang true. Actually, what all of them said rang true. That was the trouble. How was I to know who to believe?

"Stress fractures can occur in adhesive bonds when the materiab have different coefficients of thermal expansion."

I'd been staring at the sentence on my monitor for at least half an hour, as a cup of tea went cold on my desk, thinking maybe that's what had gone wrong between Rip and me. He's slow to get angry, but when he does, he stays hot much longer. I flare up quickly but quickly cool down again. My mind tripped back to that morning's conversation with Mark Diabello-yes, maybe I had flared up too quickly then. Maybe I should have given him the benefit of the doubt. What exactly had had he said? I couldn't remember. The glue had got to my brain. he said? I couldn't remember. The glue had got to my brain.

It was time to break for lunch. I wandered over to investigate the fridge. There were two eggs, a slice of bread and the remains of a supermarket bag of rocket salad. In the door was an opened bottle of Rioja. Should I? Shouldn't I?

I was trying to decide, when the doorbell rang. Mark Diabello was standing on the doorstep with a bottle of champagne in his hand. It wasn't just any old supermarket champagne, either, it was Bollinger. Maybe it was just a trick of the light, but I could swear his eyes were smouldering. Deep sea-green, with flickers of obsidian and gold. Something in my heart did a funny little skip.

"A token of appreciation for a valued client," he murmured.

"I'm not your client."

"But you could be."

"I don't think so. But come in."

I went and fetched two wine gla.s.ses from the kitchen. I didn't have proper champagne flutes. We clinked.

"I like you, Georgina. You're different."

The smile-creases in his cheeks quickened. My heart did that wayward skip again.

"Have you come to offer me a more focused view of your services?"

"Would you like that?"

I didn't say yes. But I didn't say no.

We ended up in my bedroom. He led the way. Of course, he was an estate agent, he knew where to go. It all happened astonishingly fast, with the well-oiled precision of a top-of-the-range Jaguar. He gave me just the right amount of champagne, kissed me in just the right way, holding me firmly but carefully under the chin. Then at exactly the right moment one hand moved down from my chin to my left breast. The other worked its way up between my legs. There was something rea.s.suringly impersonal about it all. His hands found their way unerringly to the right places. His fingers were strong and supple. There was no fumbling with clothes-they just fell away. His body was hard and hairy. He produced a condom from his pocket. If I'd had time to think, I might have thought-what the h.e.l.l am I doing? But I didn't think about anything. My brain was full of bubbles. My skin tingled like electricity. My body purred in his hands. I'd like to say I recoiled in disgust at the sheer efficiency of it. But actually, it was fantastic.

I can't remember what happened next-well, okay, I can, but I'm too embarra.s.sed to write it down. Look, he was the only man apart from Rip I'd slept with in twenty years. It was as though I'd slipped out of my familiar skin and become a different person, someone whose body waved and fluttered like a piece of silk in a storm.

Afterwards we lay together watching the shadows lengthen in the garden and he pulled me into his arms and stroked my hair, murmuring sweet meaningless words. Then he reached into the breast pocket of his jacket, which was hanging on the back of the chair, and pa.s.sed me a clean white handkerchief.

We didn't talk much. It wasn't about us as people. He left before Ben got back from school. I thought I might feel dirty, or used, or disgusted with myself, but I guess I realised deep down that having s.e.x with someone else was part of a sticky repair process I had to go through. What was it Nathan had said? You get better bonding with glue and a screw. Maybe there's something in that. After he'd gone, all I felt was a great ma.s.s of melancholy like a rain cloud swelling over my heart. I didn't want him to see me cry, but as I heard his Jag pull away I let the tears come. I couldn't even have said why I was crying, or what it was that had stirred up such a storm in me. Maybe the s.e.x had just loosened me up so there was no rigidity to hold back the tears.

About half an hour later, I heard the door-click of Ben letting himself in. I dried my eyes, pulled my clothes on, and went down to greet him.

"You okay, Mum?" He looked at me intently. "You seem a bit sort of...weird."

The scrambled eggs were still on the kitchen table, yellow and congealed.

"Weird in what way?"

"Sort of hyper. Hyper-manic."

"It must be all the coffee I've been drinking. I'm having a sticky patch with Adhesives Adhesives. Ha ha. How about you? How's life in..." (I censored a number of sarcastic epithets.) "...Islington?"

"It's okay. Dad's a bit hyper, too."

He poured the milk over the Choco-Puffs and sat down with his spoon.

"Oh, is he?"

I craved these snippets of information, but loyal Ben handed them out very sparingly.

"He says he's starting a new project?"

There was that rising inflection in his speech again. I found it troubling. It didn't sound like my Ben.

"Not the Progress Project?"

"He says it's progressing to a higher level?"

"Yes, he's always had high aspirations."

A sarcastic note must have crept into my voice. Ben's look warned me that I was in danger of transgressing the subtle boundaries he'd drawn up between his two worlds.

That night, after Ben had gone to bed, I poured myself a gla.s.s of wine and reached for my exercise book. They were banqueting again at Holty Towers.

The Splattered Heart

Chapter 6.

Spurned by her errant husband, heartbroken Gina at last found love fulfilment consolation in the arms of an itinerant mandolin player with obsidian cerulean sapphire amethyst obsidian cerulean sapphire amethyst jade lapis lazuli eyes. (Thanks Mr Roget.) He brought her beautiful gifts-hand-embroidered Spanish jade lapis lazuli eyes. (Thanks Mr Roget.) He brought her beautiful gifts-hand-embroidered Spanish underwear garters hankies underwear garters hankies mantillas mantillas.

As I closed up my exercise book an hour later, I realised that the wine bottle was empty, and I'd opened another one. This was no good. Maybe Ben was right-I should go easy on the Rioja. The house was full of silence. I listened. Faintly, I could hear a car pa.s.sing on the road and the tick-tick-tick of the water in the radiators. That was all. Holty Towers, the ecstasy and drama, the sumptuous meals and mandolin music, was a world away.

24.

Experimenting with Velcro Mark Diabello came back again next Wednesday, this time without the champagne, but with a bunch of flowers-red roses-and a small gift-wrapped box, which I took to be chocolates. I was waiting for him, wearing a rather revealing top, which I'd bought the day before, and some lacy panties under a sleek clinging skirt, which I'd also bought the day before. I caught sight of myself in the hall mirror, my flushed cheeks and brilliant eyes, and didn't recognise myself. I could feel myself starting to melt as he kissed me. It took us about five minutes to get from the doorstep to the bedroom.

He was already undressing me as we fell on to the bed, his hands working with the same target-driven efficiency. When his shirt came off I could smell his body, soapy, sweaty, musky, and another smell, faintly chemical and disconcerting. What was it? I pressed my face to his skin. Sulphur? Chlorine. And in a flash I was sixteen years old, back in the locker room at the International Pool in Leeds, locked in a cubicle with Gavin Connolly, locked in his arms, lost in love.

"Have you been swimming?"

"How can you tell?"

"You smell of chlorine."

"Don't you like it?"

"I do like it. A lot."

"I'm a diver. High board"

"That must be so terrifying!"

"It is. You just have to shut your eyes and plunge."

I imagined him, hard and lean and straight as a pike, hurtling into the water. I shut my eyes and plunged.

"Aren't you going to open your present?" he murmured.

I reached for the little box that had slipped down at the side of the bed, and pulled the ribbon off. Something red and silky slipped out. I held it up. It was a tiny pair of panties, shiny red satin, trimmed with black lace. I stared. Blimey! Were they for me? I'd never owned anything like this before. I wasn't even sure I liked them.

"Aren't you going to put them on?"

I wriggled into them and felt them flutter like moth's wings against my thighs. There was something odd about them-the gusset-it was open. Surely that defeated the whole purpose...? What's the point of panties without a gusset?

She soon found out. Not me, not Georgie Sinclair, no, it was a different woman-someone s.e.xy and shameless who frolicked around in red satin panties trimmed with black lace and an opening in the gusset, who smelled of s.e.x, whose body melted like warm sugar in the arms of a dark handsome stranger who appeared on her doorstep and made love to her one afternoon.

The dark handsome stranger lay with the s.e.xy woman, carrying his weight on one elbow. His other hand was exploring the opening in the gusset. She could smell the chlorine on his skin.

"Look, there's something else in the box," he said.

The s.e.xy woman fumbled shamelessly in the box and pulled out-what the h.e.l.l were they? Two loops of red padded satin trimmed with black lace. Garters? No, there was a Velcro fastening.

"You naughty little slag," he whispered. "Let me..."

He leaned over her and fastened her wrists to the bedhead, pressing down on her, pressing all the breath out of her till she had to cry out. She came almost at once, before he'd even entered her.

It was warm and steamy in the locker room, and we were wet and slippery, and then we towelled each other dry and got into our damp chlorine-sticky clothes. What had happened to Gavin Connolly? What had happened to Georgie Shutworth? I couldn't help myself-1 started to cry. Mark Diabello dabbed my eyes with his hanky and kissed me lingeringly on my throat and neck.