THERE WAS NOT another like her in the whole world. When God made this girl, He broke the mould.
“W…W…Wait till you meet her, B…B…Bernie,” Geoffrey exclaimed. “You’ll fall h…head over heels in love with her yourself!”
Getting a word in edgewise with Geoffrey was always difficult, but the echo on the line from Sydney made it impossible. “She’s paradise. Honey from the b…b…bee. B…b…beautiful b…bodywork! And she’s got the most w…wonderful set of t…t…t…chompers. That’s because she’s a…”
“Let me get this straight,” Bernard plunged in finally. “You’re already married, is that right?”
“She’s all mine, B…Bern. I’m the proud owner.”
“You make her sound like a car.”
“W…What’s that?”
“And you’ll be arriving Thursday?”
“W…W…One o’clock, Thursday.”
“I can’t pick you up from Heathrow,” Bernard said. “I’m too busy. But I’ll send someone. Carry a sign, will you?”
“W…What?”
“Wear a pink beanie or something so my man can recognise you.”
“Just tell the g…guy to look for the most b…b…beautiful g…girl on the plane.”
The same old Geoffrey, mad as ever. Spotting him at Heathrow would not be hard. The merry strains of Here Comes the Bride issuing from his enormous larynx, and the trail of toothpaste and size 14 shoes following him across the arrivals hall would probably prove a give-away. His gorgeous bride would be three feet tall, five feet wide with eyes where her ears should be.
Bernard and Geoffrey Bracewell were brothers. Bernard was the rising star in a multinational firm of industrial engineers. Geoffrey was a lopsided giant with frizzy hair, a donkey grin and a stammer. Geoffrey lived in Neverland. Bernard lived in Weybridge, and worked an eighty hour week.
As a boy, Bernard’s first commandment was:
“Bernie, watch out for your little brother. If he comes to harm, you’ll blame yourself for ever.”
So Bernard had spent a lifetime playing Theo van Gogh to Geoffrey’s Vincent, feeling sorry for Geoffrey, and guilty for being born the lucky one, blessed with the good looks and the brains. Bernard worked hard, and success came easily. He even married the proverbial boss’s daughter. Geoffrey, on the other hand, was a walking disaster. He plunged headlong into life and squashed it flat.
It was natural for Bernard to have Geoffrey live with him in the house at Weybridge. But Bernard’s wife, Stephanie, loathed Geoffrey. She nicknamed him Quasimodo. She gave her husband an ultimatum: either Geoffrey went, or she did.
Not long after that, Bernard was sent to consult on a job in Australia. While he was there, he had a brainwave.
There wasn’t a suitable job for Geoffrey in Australia — there wasn’t a suitable job for Geoffrey anywhere on the planet. But, with a little help from Stephanie’s tycoon Daddy, who believed in an honest day’s work for an honest day’s pay, and with a modicum of fiddling, Bernard managed to sneak Geoffrey into the Sydney office. Before leaving Australia, he organised living arrangements for his brother painstakingly. Then he went home with the good news.
Stephanie was over the moon, which helped salve Bernard’s conscience about some of his other more clandestine Australian activities. Geoffrey zoomed around the house with his arms stretched out for wings.
Bernard was a faithful husband. Stephanie was about as forgiving as an aircraft engine to a seagull, and Bernard knew if he crossed her, Daddy would ensure his whole career went down the tubes. But Australia was like travelling to another star. Australian women were among the world’s most beautiful. They made you reckless. Bernard had been reckless for the one and only time of his marriage, and enjoyed himself immensely. Later he felt bad. To his conscience he pleaded loneliness, because Stephanie had refused to go with him. She wouldn’t stay home with Quasimodo, so she’d gone with her mother to Majorca.
Six months went by, and next to nothing was heard from Geoffrey. Bernard spent his time worrying. Stephanie was pleased as punch. She could invite her friends to the house again.
Then, out of the blue, came this call to say Geoffrey had got married and was bringing his new bride home to England.
Actually, Bernard welcomed his brother’s return. It would be a weight off his mind. But Stephanie hit the roof.
“He is absolutely, positively not living in this house!” she vowed when Bernard broke the news.
“Obviously,” Bernard said. “He’s married now. They’ll have to find a place of their own.”
“You’ll have to find them a place, you mean.”
What did Geoffrey think he was going to live on once he got back to Britain? There was no place in the firm for him here.
Bernard could not afford the time to meet them at the airport. He arranged a company car to take them to Weybridge, and appealed to Stephanie to entertain them till he got home.
It was February and sleeting. Bernard was late leaving the office. The traffic was appalling. Why on earth would anyone forsake the Australian summer and come to England in February? That was Geoffrey all over. Mad as a hatter.
Bernard would have moved to Australia tomorrow, except Stephanie would never leave her beloved England. Maybe that would change now Geoffrey was back.
Bernard let himself in the front door and took off his coat. Stephanie’s mood would not be good. She was in the lounge. Dinner was keeping warm.
“Where are they?” Bernard asked.
“Upstairs. Supposed to be down at six. But so far we’ve been spared. I think they’ll be too tired to eat.”
“What’s she like?”
“Pretty, in a down-on-the-farm sort of way.”
From Stephanie, this was high praise.
“So Geoff’s done all right for himself?”
“He’s done the impossible. She’s married him.”
“I can’t imagine why he’d bring her back to this foghole of a country. Have they really come to live permanently?”
“Apparently. But it’s her idea, not Geoffrey’s. She wants a cottage by the sea in Cornwall.”
“Mad,” Bernard said. He went to pour himself a whisky.
“Why? It may not be Australia, but at least it’s far away.”
“ Why live in Cornwall when you can live in Sydney?”
“Because, my dear, Sydney is the arse end of nowhere.”
“What’s her name?” Bernard asked.
“Name?”
“What’s the girl’s name? Geoffrey told me the size of her tits, but he neglected to tell me her name.”
“It’s Clare.”
They heard a door upstairs.
“B…B…B…Bernie? Is that you?” Geoffrey boomed.
“Geoff! Welcome home! Let’s have a look at this lovely wife of yours.”
They came down holding hands, the very image of newly weds.
“B…B…B…Bernie, have I got a surprise for you!”
The new bride wore a short skirt, and from the bottom of the stairs, Bernard’s attention was drawn foremost to her legs which were long and shapely. But when he dragged his focus up to the top half of her, surprise wasn’t the word. He wished for a hole in the floor to open and swallow him.
“M…Meet Clare!” Geoffrey exclaimed proudly.
It couldn’t be! Jesus, it couldn’t! Australia was a small town, in a small world. But a coincidence of such massive proportions as this simply didn’t happen.
“Isn’t she the most irresistib…b…bble creature you ever laid eyes on?”
She was. Just how irresisti-bubble Bernard knew. Except then she wasn’t Clare. She called herself Vanessa, and she was the one and only reckless faux pas of his marriage. Twelve months and twelve thousand miles later, here was Vanessa bold as brass in his lounge room on planet Weybridge, smiling broadly at Stephanie.
“Clare,” Geoffrey announced, “ this is B…B…Bernie, the b…b…best b…brother a b…bloke ever had!”
Vanessa-Clare put out her lovely arms, embraced Bernard, and kissed him on the mouth.
“Whoa!” Geoffrey whinnied. “B…Bernie, you can admire the b…b…bodywork, but you can’t p…put the key in the ignition! Haw, haw!”
“Geoff’s told me so much about you,” Clare said. “I feel like we’re old friends.”
Cool as a cucumber. Innocent as a lamb.
“Don’t I get a hug too, b…big brother?”
Squeezed in the vice of Geoffrey’s bear hug, Bernard fixed his gaze on the girl.
No hint of recognition.
“It’s g…g…good to be home, b…brother B…Bernard!” Geoffrey said.
“What’s the matter, Bernard?” Stephanie asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“He…he…he’s overcome by Clare’s t…t…tits! Haw, haw!”
Stephanie Bracewell stared at her husband aghast.
“Of course not, Stephanie!” Bernard protested. “Look, how about a drink? I was just pouring one. What will you have, Clare?”
He needn’t ask. Gin and tonic.
“Gin and tonic,” she said. “That would be wonderful.”
“Geoff?”
“B…b…beer. I only drink beer. I’m your regular Aussie b…b…b…bloke!”
“Actually, I’d been wondering,” Bernard said, dropping ice cubes on the carpet, “what made you decide to come back to England? Is this just a visit, or are you really here for keeps? How will um…. Clare…. ever stand the bloody weather?”
“It was Clare w…w…wanted to come,” Geoffrey said. “I love Oz. But Clare said, ‘Let’s g…go to England!’ So here we are!”
“I’ve always longed to see England,” Clare said. “It’s a fairy tale place for me. All the little hobbit houses, and snow, and castles, and London Bridge.”
“You should try London Bridge at a quarter to nine on Monday morning,” Bernard said, by way of conversation.
“Is it very beautiful at that time?”
“He means the traffic,” Stephanie explained. “Bernard’s idea of beauty is something more connected with short skirts. Certainly not London Bridge.”
“What I meant was,” Bernard said, “when are you going back to Australia, or—? ”
“Not till we’re over the jet-lag,” Clare said.
“C…C…Can’t get rid of us that quickly, B…B… Bern. Clare wants to make love on a W…Welsh mountain t…t…top, and in a c…castle. That’ll take a while!”
“Don’t give away all our secrets, Geoffrey,” Clare said.
“I was thinking more of whether Geoff wants a transfer to the London office,” Bernard said. “Because that could prove awkward. We’re laying off staff left, right and centre.”
“Daddy worked very hard to arrange your Sydney job, Geoffrey,” Stephanie said.
“Oh, I’ll find something,” Geoffrey answered breezily. “And in the meantime, Clare can work as a pros…pros…pros — prosthodontist!”
He snorted and giggled.
“That’s Geoffrey’s little joke,” Clare said.
“He’s already played it on me,” Stephanie added.
“A st…st…stutter has gotta be g…g…good for something!”
“What on earth is a prosthodontist?” Bernard asked.
“T…T…Teeth.”
“Really?”
“She makes teeth.”
“Wonders never cease,” Bernard said, looking Clare-Vanessa straight in the eye.
Still no response. What did he expect —
Hey, Bernard, I remember you! You’re the guy I did it in the bushes with, because we couldn’t wait. Long time no see!
God forbid! At the same time, had she completely forgotten him?
“Coming to Britain has been my dream ever since I was a little girl,” Clare said, and smiled at Geoffrey.
She was beautiful. Her skin had a quality that beckoned your fingers to feel it, like fine fabric. She was not tanned, pale by Australian standards. Her eyes were forget-me-not blue, with dark lashes. Her blond hair tumbled down as though she’d not bothered with a mirror, but it tumbled perfectly, the way water does.
“Geoff and I could be happy anywhere,” she said, “as long as we’re together.”
Her voice evoked the lovely warm insouciance of a Sydney summer evening. Her face was perfect. Fine features, fine bones, a straight nose and superbly chiselled lips. No make-up. Naturalness, innocence and virtue personified. She even smelled virtuous — a summer, verdant, grassy smell. That at least was deceiving. Her virtue was a little less flawless than it seemed. The body inside her dress was just as he remembered: made in heaven, perfectly wrought to the finest detail, and every detail was etched amazingly clearly in his memory.
“Falling in love again,” Geoffrey crooned. “Easy to do with a st…stunner like this, eh, B…B…Bern?”
Stephanie cleared her throat. “Cornwall is one of the loveliest parts of England,” she said. “I think it’s a fine choice.”
“Geoffrey saw a For Sale sign on the way here,” Clare said. “Not two blocks away, wasn’t it, darling?”
“Fancy a c…couple of Aussie neigh…b…b…bours, Bern?”
“Property’s expensive,” Bernard said.
“You’re too kind, B…B…Bernie. B…But we c…can’t imp…pose on you forever. Got to stand on our own t…two feet.”
Bernard caught Stephanie’s venomous glance. Was it meant to signify outrage over the prospect of Geoffrey’s return to Weybridge, or something deeper?
“We’ll find a way to manage,” Clare said.
Bernard slopped himself another whisky.
By dinner he was on his fifth.
A wink, a glance, a nod. That’s all he wanted from her. Something to confirm he had not been a totally unmemorable lover.
They ate pork tenderloin with almond and anchovy stuffed prunes, delivered by the caterers. Bernard and Stephanie sat at opposite ends of the table, Geoffrey and Clare sat on one side. Bernard poured wine, Geoffrey refused it and drank beer, which caused him to belch mightily every few minutes. In between, he prattled on about a fantastic trick he’d learnt to eliminate the smell from his socks using mineral turps, and how, if the beer made him burp, the prunes would shortly engender a much more exotic outburst from the other end of him.
Stephanie tried to steer the conversation round to the Oscars, the hole in the ozone layer, ragout recipes, the Royal Family, even advances in plastic surgery. Geoffrey untucked his shirt and pinched a big roll of fat to show his need for liposuction, and then performed liposuction on Clare.
Bernard’s oesophagus meanwhile refused the pork and prunes, but willingly accepted wine. The candles glowed ever brighter. Bernard kicked himself for foolishly getting so drunk. He would be off his guard. He watched Clare. He watched Stephanie to make sure she didn’t watch him watching Clare. Clare grew ever more beautiful.
“So where did you two meet?” Bernard asked.
“Three g…guesses what first attracted Clare to me,” Geoffrey spluttered through the suds of his beer. “And it wasn’t my st…st…stutter, which is how I usually p…pull women. Haw, haw!”
“Your sense of humour?” Bernard suggested.
“You mean she laughed at me,” Geoffrey said. “Uh-uh. Two guesses left. Stephanie, your g…go.”
Stephanie tried, but couldn’t think of anything.
“She doesn’t like to say the size of my p…p…pendulum,” Geoffrey confided in mock undertones. “They don’t call me the d…donkey for nothing.”
“Your kind and generous nature?” Bernard said.
Geoffrey shook his head. “No. B…But I like it. Let’s make it ten guesses.”
Stephanie rolled her eyes.
“Clare,” she said, “why don’t you tell us the answer? I for one would be fascinated to know.”
“Hey, that’s cheating!” Geoffrey exclaimed.
“Your stunning good looks?” Bernard tried.
“Nope. Time’s up.”
Geoffrey gave a huge grin.
“My t…t…teeth,” he cackled, tapping them noisily with the fingernail of his middle finger. “Our family has always been famous for its t…teeth. Isn’t that true, brother B…Bernard? We have the b…best teeth of any family in England. And we’ve always b…been very careful to look after them. ‘Fillings mean b…billings,’ Mum used to say. Remember, Bern? Well,” Geoffrey opened his mouth so wide Bernard thought he was literally going to try and stick his foot in it. “Have a look in there! Not a filling anywhere. Right to the b…back. Can you see?”
Bernard looked out of drunken curiosity. He thought he could see a filling, but decided it was a bit of prune. Stephanie looked the other direction. Clare giggled.
“Clare was my dentist. She fell in love with my t…teeth.”
“I fell in love with more than his teeth,” Clare said.
“Who-a! You know what she means!”
“Geoff plays himself down,” Clare said, “but he’s the sweetest, kindest, most natural guy I ever met.”
Stephanie’s digestive tract was clearly moved by this tender expression of devotion.
“So, you really are a dentist?” Bernard asked Clare.
“Absolutely,” Geoffrey declared. “Clare b…bent over to look in my mouth, and she had these g…g…gorgeous b…b…b… ”
“The sweet is charlotte russe,” Stephanie interrupted, folding her napkin.
“I was hooked, B…Bern. Lifted up b…by the eye…b…balls. And she was hooked on my p…pearlies. So, we got married.”
Geoffrey and Clare treated themselves to another kiss. Bernard watched the colour rise in Clare’s face.
The wine and whisky were rushing together fruitily in his brain. His cheeks were burning. His pressing desire to hide the truth from Stephanie battled an equally pressing desire to make love to the girl sitting next to him at the table, at least stab her with an arrow of reminiscence of their sultry night together.
“You’re a lucky man, Geoffrey,” Bernard said. “But I would have stayed in Sydney. I loved Sydney: Circular Quay at dusk, with the breeze, and that wonderful glow in the sky and all the lights, the Botanic Gardens—”
“To be honest, I think Sydney is ugly,” Clare said.
Stephanie gathered plates and went to fetch the charlotte russe. Clare offered to help. While Geoffrey waffled about jet-lag causing bad collywobbles, Bernard reached to pick up Clare’s napkin off the floor. In passing he allowed himself the liberty of feeling the seat of her chair. It was thrillingly warm. There was something tantalising and mischievous about having Vanessa-Clare sitting by his side at the same table with Stephanie.
Vanessa had been entirely a chance encounter.
Strolling along Circular Quay one evening, with only two days remaining of his Sydney visit, Bernard had inadvertently collided with the girl walking ahead of him on the pavement. He apologised.
“My fault,” she said. “The heel of my shoe broke.”
She took off the other shoe and presented it to Bernard.
“Maybe you can do the same for this one.”
She was beautiful, the most beautiful girl Bernard had ever seen. His strength failed him, and the heel of the shoe refused to snap.
“Never mind,” Vanessa-Clare said casually, tossing the shoes in a rubbish bin. “Such gallantry still deserves a drink.”
That was how it started. Why would so beautiful a girl invite him, a total stranger, for a drink? The question had afforded his ego hours of pleasure.
“You can either carry me,” she said, “or wait while I take off these stockings. They’re silk.”
Bernard chose to wait.
They ran barefoot in the park, Bernard like a dog on a lead. Like children, they hid in the Botanic Gardens till the gates closed. Vanessa knew a special hiding place.
Lips painted red, forget-me-not eyes accented with mascara and full of allure, not innocence. Clare was a dark horse all right. Bernard hoped for Geoffrey’s sake she was not also a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
He remembered asking naively, “Should I pay you?”
Vanessa only laughed. “Do you imagine you could afford me? Just pay for a room.”
“I shouldn’t be doing this,” Bernard said.
“What’s wrong?”
“My wife—”
“Oh.” She nodded sympathetically. “Don’t worry. I’m not like other girls. You see, I truly am irresistible. So it isn’t your fault. It’s your duty.”
Bernard readily obliged and did his duty. In forty-eight hours, he’d be on the plane back to England. He’d had a bit too much to drink. He‘d been foolish, but discreet. None of it mattered anyway because it was all innocently anonymous. She obviously wanted it that way, like a game of doctors and nurses. That suited Bernard fine. He hadn’t given his real name. She hadn’t given hers.
Clare resumed her seat beside Geoffrey.
“The charlotte russe looks really yummy,” she said.
Bernard poured wine.
Truly irresistible. Maybe she was right.
He sang nonchalantly:
“Cobbler, cobbler, mend my shoe,
Get it done by half-past two.”
“Here we are,” Stephanie said, bringing the charlotte russe.
Geoffrey spooned it into his mouth with great enthusiasm. Between mouthfuls he mumbled fragments of verse, undoubtedly prompted by Bernard’s nursery rhyme.
“Charlotte russe, charlotte russe
Don’t p…plop out as chocolate mousse!”
At a little after half past nine, Clare said, “I hope we don’t seem rude if we retire early tonight.”
“You couldn’t possibly seem rude,” Bernard said.
“We’re very tired from the flight. We’ll make better company tomorrow.”
“What about coffee?” Bernard suggested. “Brandy?”
“No thanks.”
“What about we all kick our shoes off and go for a run outside in the sleet?”
“I must say I feel quite weary myself,” Stephanie said.
“What about a quick game of leapfrog?”
“I can think of something,” Geoffrey piped up. “But C…C…Clare’s taking me to b…bed for that! Haw, haw!”
Another kiss. Altogether too soppy for words, Bernard thought.
“They seem well-suited,” Bernard remarked to Stephanie when the lovebirds had gone.
“You’re drunk, Bernard,” Stephanie retorted coldly.
“I’m perfectly fine.”
“I’m sure you are. You’re behaving like a complete imbecile.”
“Am I?”
“You know you are.”
“I’m upset for you, my little sausage. I am conscious of the aversion you have to my dear brother’s company.”
“Well, be conscious of this: he is not staying in this house beyond tomorrow. Australia, hardly surprisingly, has made him more revolting than ever. And don’t think I can’t read your mind, Bernard, when it comes to that floozy of his.”
“What?”
“I know what’s going on.”
“You do?” Bernard muttered.
“You’ve been licking your lips all evening, Bernard. And it isn’t from enjoyment of the charlotte russe. Stack the dishes. I’m going to bed. Don’t bother creeping upstairs. I shall most certainly not be awake. One of my trusty tablets will save me from the torture of listening to Quasimodo groaning all night.”
“What?”
“Oh, yes, Bernard. Groaning and moaning. That’s what he spent the afternoon doing. In the bedroom, with her.”
Bernard poured himself out a large brandy. He lay on the couch, but the room began to spin, so he sat up.
Why didn’t Vanessa-Clare show any signs of recognising him, despite all his efforts? She’d obviously plain forgotten. Without blowing his own trumpet, his performance that night had been pretty thrilling for her. So how many men did she do it with in her special hiding place?
He had to try and clear his head, sort this thing out.
Instead, his head flopped on the couch again. From somewhere his brain produced an album of mental snapshots taken that warm evening with Vanessa.
A little while later he swam back to consciousness and remembered the dinner dishes. Rain still blew against the window. The brandy balloon slopped in his lap as he got up. He wiped his trousers and began to clear the table. On his third trip to the kitchen, Clare appeared at the bottom of the staircase.
It took a moment to decide if she was real, or a phantom of Bernard’s overheated imagination. She wore a pyjama shirt of Geoffrey’s, buttoned to the collar, but hardly covering the tops of her legs.
“Not asleep?” Bernard remarked casually.
“Sorry. I startled you.”
“Just cleaning up,” Bernard said, continuing into the kitchen.
“Can I help?”
“All done.”
“You missed this,” she said, picking up Bernard’s brandy balloon and taking it to the dishwasher. As she bent over, Bernard looked away to avoid bursting a blood vessel.
“That doesn’t g…go in there,” he said. “Bit fragile.”
“Oops. I guess Geoff didn’t marry me for my housekeeping skills.”
“What happened to your early night?” Bernard asked.
“Geoffrey was asleep in three minutes. I can’t sleep at all. I thought maybe some warm milk—”
“Help yourself. Good night.”
He turned to go upstairs.
“Is everything all right?” Clare asked.
Bernard turned back and affected a smile.
“I’d love to stay and chat,” he said. “But just now, you’re a little too naked, I’m a little too drunk, and my wife is upstairs.”
“Can you show me where the milk is?”
“In the refrigerator,” Bernard snapped.
“You don’t like me, do you?”
“I’m a man, aren’t I? Ergo, I like you. Of course I like you.”
“It’s just you seem—”
“I find you truly irresistible.”
“What?”
“Oh, come on!” Bernard exclaimed abruptly. “No more beating around the bush. Do you remember me or not?”
“Remember you?”
“You don’t remember, do you?”
“Oh, God! This is embarrassing. We went out together? Is that right?”
Bernard grunted and went to fetch the brandy bottle.
“Did we have an affair?” Clare asked, as he refilled the balloon.
“Hardly an affair.”
“But we made love?”
“For heaven’s sake! Are you an amnesiac?”
“No. But you must be confusing me with someone else.”
“Oh? Sure. How could anyone confuse you with someone else?”
“My sister.”
“It wasn’t your sister. It was you.”
“What was her name?”
“Vanessa. But—”
“That explains it. My sister’s name is Vanessa. Gee, what a coincidence!”
“Geoffrey never mentioned you had a sister.”
“We don’t talk about her. She’s sort of the black sheep of the family. She’s a…. well, I guess you’d call her a nymphomaniac.”
“Is this the truth?”
“Yes.”
“And you both drink gin and tonic?”
That took the wind out of her sails.
“Would you like a drink now?” Bernard asked.
“I’d rather have milk.”
“I’ll warm it for you.”
“I thought you were worried—”
“Call it gallantry. Stephanie has taken a sleeping pill. Stampeding wildebeest won’t wake her.”
Seated behind the breakfast bar, Clare-Vanessa at least looked decent, though if Bernard stepped back from the stove a little he could glimpse the side of her thigh. She said, “Stephanie doesn’t like Geoffrey very much, does she?”
“She liked Geoffrey in Australia.”
“We’ll be out of your hair as soon as we can find a place of our own.”
“That would be best,” Bernard said.
“I won’t say anything, if that’s what’s been worrying you.”
“Thanks.”
“These things are best forgotten, aren’t they? Especially when you’re married.”
Bernard took a hefty swig from his brandy balloon.
“I acted on impulse that night,” he explained. “I know it was stupid. But you’re a very beautiful girl.”
“Vanessa you mean.”
“Any man could be excused for what I did.”
“Sure. It happens. But you must have had heart failure when you thought Stephanie was going to find out.”
“Let’s just make it our secret,” Bernard suggested.
Clare put her finger to her lips. “Mum’s the word,” she said. “We won’t even mention it to ourselves.”
She smiled. It was a beautiful smile. It flowed in Bernard’s blood and made him weak at the knees.
Suddenly he saw what a fool he’d been. Clare was as anxious to keep their liaison secret from Geoffrey as he was from Stephanie. She probably imagined Bernard telling her husband he’d married a girl who did it with every bloke she met in the street. So what if she did? Geoffrey was still better off than married to Stephanie.
“That milk is boiling over,” Clare said.
“What? Oh!”
Bernard juggled the frothy milk into a glass.
Clare took a sip and glanced up at him. A tantalising little white line of milk adorned her top lip. She said, “I guess the sooner Geoff and I find a place of our own the better.”
“True,” Bernard agreed. He sat beside her on the breakfast bar stools.
“We can’t go on living here.”
“No. But — I sort of wish you could.”
“Hey! You’re confusing me with Vanessa again.”
Bernard gulped more brandy.
“Do you think, if a girl is truly irresistible,” he asked, “a man can’t be blamed for his actions?”
“I never blame any man for his actions,” Clare said.
“You know, if this were a court of law, the jury would never believe your story about Vanessa being your sister.”
Bernard cursed a hiccup for erupting at this delicate moment. His lips very close to Clare’s.
“Why?” Clare asked.
“It wouldn’t wash,” Bernard told her.
Under the red and yellow stripes of Geoffrey’s pyjama shirt, he could see the pointed swellings of her breasts. He felt strangely dizzy, as if the room was dissolving.
“It wouldn’t wash,” Bernard plunged on, “because no jury would believe there were two such beautiful girls as you in the world.”
“Don’t!” Clare said.
Even before he kissed her, he knew he was done for. Five years married to Stephanie had given him eyes in the back of his head. But he kissed her anyway. She truly was irresistible. When the kiss was complete he turned to face his wife who was standing in the doorway.
BY EIGHT THE following morning Stephanie was gone. Home to Daddy.
In spite of the rain in the night, it dawned a bright day for February. Bernard, his head pounding and his mouth like the inside of an old shoe, found Geoffrey doing push-ups on the terrace, puffing clouds of steam like a locomotive.
Bernard explained about the night before, and he was honest with Geoffrey. He had tried to seduce his brother’s new bride in the kitchen. His only excuse was intoxication. None of it was Clare’s fault. She had behaved impeccably.
“You’re forg…g…given, Bern,” Geoffrey chirped. “C…Clare has that effect on b…b…blokes. Mind you, whatever you did to her last night, you wore her out. She’s sound asleep.”
“I hardly wore her out. I kissed her. That’s all.”
“Hey, Bern,” Geoffrey whispered, as softly as his booming voice would allow. “Now Stephanie’s g…gone, I’ve got an idea.”
“What? Suicide?”
“No. If you think C…Clare’s cute, I know where I can p..put my hands on another one the same.”
“Another one the same?”
“Id…dentical model. You’re never gonna believe this, but Clare’s got a sister. A t…t…twin sister. B…Black sheep of the family, but a real g…goer! That’s one for each of us, b…brother B…Bernard!”
THE END