Surprise Me
Page 47

Professor Russell potters into the greenhouse and emerges with a small green frondy thing in a pot.
‘Give it some light, but not too much,’ he says, his eyes twinkling at her. ‘And watch how it grows.’
Tessa takes the pot, then looks up at him expectantly. ‘But we need one for Anna,’ she says.
‘Tessa!’ I exclaim, appalled. ‘You don’t say that! You say, “Thank you for the lovely plant.” Anna’s her twin,’ I explain apologetically to Professor Russell. ‘They look out for each other. You can share it with Anna,’ I add to Tessa.
‘Not at all!’ says Professor Russell at once. ‘Tessa’s quite right. How could we forget Anna?’
He darts back into the greenhouse and produces a second little plant.
I wince. ‘I’m so sorry. Tessa, you mustn’t ask for things.’
‘Nonsense!’ Professor Russell winks at Tessa. ‘If we don’t stick up for the ones we love, then what are we good for?’
As Tessa sinks to her haunches and begins examining the plants more closely, Professor Russell’s gaze drifts again over my shoulder. I turn and see that he’s watching Owen, who is settling himself in one of the Ercol chairs in the conservatory, a blanket over his knees. I can see Professor Russell mouthing, ‘Are you all right?’ and Owen nodding.
‘How long have you two been …’ I ask softly, not quite sure how to put it. I’m fairly sure they’re not just friends, but you can never be sure.
‘We knew each other as schoolboys,’ says Professor Russell mildly.
‘Oh, right,’ I say, taken aback. ‘Wow. That’s a long time. So …’
‘At that time, Owen didn’t realize his … true nature, shall we say.’ Professor Russell blinks at me. ‘He married … I devoted myself to research … We found each other again eight years ago. In answer to what I believe you are asking, I have loved him for fifty-nine years. Much of it from afar, of course.’ He gives that glimmering smile again.
I’m speechless. Fifty-nine years? As I survey his wrinkled face, I feel like Professor Russell towers above me in every way. He has a towering intellect. A towering love. I have an urge to stay here and ask him lots of questions and soak up some of his wisdom.
Then, suddenly, I notice that Tessa is shredding a frond from one of the pot plants. Shit. There’s five-year-old intellectual curiosity for you.
‘Anyway, we must go,’ I say hastily. ‘We’ve taken up too much of your time. Thank you so much, Professor Russell.’
‘Please.’ He beams at me. ‘Do call me John.’
‘John.’
John leads us back through the house and we say goodbye with lots of warm hand-shaking and promises to have tea some time. As I’m opening our own front door, I’m so busy trying to picture him and Owen as gangly teenage boys that Tilda’s voice makes me jump.
‘Sylvie!’ She’s striding down the path, dressed in a rather dated maroon work suit, and beckons me over vigorously. ‘How’s things?’
‘Oh, hi!’ I greet her. ‘I’ve just been in Professor Russell’s garden. He’s really lovely. We should have drinks or something.’ I release Tessa’s hand. ‘Go and show Anna her plant, darling. And get your book bags. I’ll be there in a minute.’
‘So?’ Tilda’s eyes flash at me as Tessa scampers inside the house. ‘How was dessert al fresco? I haven’t had the full debrief yet.’
This is true. Apart from a thirty-second hello-thank-you-goodbye when we got back from the sculpture garden, I haven’t seen Tilda. She’s been working for one of her clients on site in his Andover office, so we’ve missed our morning walks. Which means she has no idea what’s been going on. I glance cautiously towards the house, but there’s no sign of Dan. Still, just to be sure, I pull the front door to.
‘Don’t you have to get to Andover?’ I say, eyeing up her suit.
‘I’ll go in a moment.’ Tilda waves an airy hand. ‘Spill.’
‘Well.’ I sit on her garden wall and wrap my arms around myself. ‘Slight backfire, if you must know.’
‘Really?’ She sounds surprised. ‘Dan looked pretty revved up to me. Didn’t he like the corset?’
‘It’s not that.’ I shake my head. ‘The sex was good. We went to this special secret garden and it was all pretty spectacular, in fact.’
‘So, what’s the problem?’
I’m silent for a few moments. The truth is, although I’m trying to be breezy and matter-of-fact, I am feeling the odd flicker of genuine worry. And saying it out loud is going to make it twenty times worse.
‘It “woke something up” in Dan,’ I say at last. ‘Apparently.’
Tilda stares at me. ‘Woke what up?’
‘The whole thing reminded him of this ex-girlfriend. An ex-girlfriend he’d never even told me about. And now he’s been googling her. Loads of times.’ I’m speaking calmly, but I feel a tremor in my face, as if my worries can’t be contained. ‘In secret.’
‘Oh.’ Tilda looks disconcerted for a moment, then rallies. ‘Oh, but googling means nothing. Everyone googles. I google Adam about three times a week. I like to torture myself,’ she adds with a wry shrug.
‘But he’s never googled her before. He’s never even thought about her before. And it’s all my own doing!’ I add in self-castigation. ‘I brought this on myself!’
‘No you didn’t!’ Tilda gives an incredulous laugh. ‘What, by dressing up in sexy gear?’
‘By poking our marriage with a stick! By pushing him to be adventurous! It made him think. And that’s what he thought of! His ex!’
‘Ah.’ Tilda pulls a wry, comical expression. ‘Well, yes. Maybe that wasn’t such a wild idea. You don’t want husbands to start thinking.’
‘You warned me,’ I say miserably. ‘You said, “Surprises have a bad habit of going wrong.” Well, you were right.’
‘Sylvie, I didn’t mean it!’ says Tilda in dismay. ‘And you mustn’t worry. Look at the facts. Dan loves you and you had great sex. A lot of couples would die to be having great sex,’ she adds pointedly.
‘Yes, but even the sex …’ I bite my lip and glance towards my front door again.
‘What?’ Tilda leans forward, looking fascinated, and I hesitate. I’m not really one for spilling intimate details. But since the boudoir shoot, there doesn’t seem any point in being coy with Tilda.
‘Well,’ I say, my voice almost a whisper. ‘It was super hot, but it was … different. He was different. At the time, I thought: Great, I’m turning him on. But now I’m thinking: Was it the memory of her?’ I give a little shudder. ‘Was it all about her?’
‘I’m sure it wasn’t—’
‘I said I wanted a surprise,’ I cut her off in agitation. ‘Well, what if his “surprise” is, he goes and shags someone else?’
‘Enough!’ says Tilda briskly, putting a hand on my arm. ‘Sylvie, you’re overreacting. All Dan’s actually done is google his ex. If you ask me, he’ll never mention her again. In a month, he’ll have forgotten her.’