Back In The Marriage Bed. PENNY JORDAN
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for her injury, she was taking a few months’ sabbatical from her job. Earlier in the week she had said her temporary goodbyes to her colleagues at the multinational petrochemical company, Petrofiche, whose head offices were situated in what had originally been a very large country house several miles outside the city, over a happy girlie lunch.
For this evening’s meal she had booked a table at the area’s most prestigious restaurant on the river, insisting that on this occasion she was going to treat Helena and Bob, and that she would pick them up in her newly acquired and rather swish Mercedes car.
The car had been a real step forward for Annie. She hadn’t been able to drive when she had had her accident, and for a long time afterwards she had remained terrified of even being near a car never mind driving one. But eventually she had forced herself to overcome her fears and she had successfully taken her test. The weakness in her arm meant that she felt much more comfortable driving an automatic car than a manual, and so, aided and abetted by Helena and Bob, she had finally given in and allowed herself the luxury of her new smart car.
It didn’t take her long to get ready; she preferred to use the minimum of make-up and, as Helena often told her enviously, she was lucky enough to have naturally good skin. If her mouth was a little too full for her own liking, well, she had learned how to tone down its sizzling second glance male appeal with pastel-toned lipsticks. Her hair, silky and straight, she always wore long and simply styled, setting off her delicate bone structure.
Once on, the new outfit looked even better than Annie had remembered. She had finally, this last year, with the court case at long last behind her, started to put on a little extra weight and it suited her.
Giving her bedroom a proud appraisal, she walked over to the door. Her small Victorian cottage, bought out of the award the court had given her, had been very run-down when she had found it, and she had lived surrounded by builders’ rubble and very often the builders themselves whilst it was being restored and renovated, determinedly refusing Helena and Bob’s pleas for her to move back in with them until the work was finished. She had wanted to be on the spot, to prove her maturity and her independence and, most of all, to prove to herself that she was capable of managing on her own.
The large double bed which dominated the room couldn’t help but catch her eye. Even now she wasn’t quite sure why she had bought it, why she had so instinctively and automatically picked it out of all the beds in the showroom, heading for it almost like someone on autopilot, or someone who was sleepwalking.
All she had known was that it was the bed she had to have.
‘Well, it will certainly suit the house,’ had been Helena’s comment when she had taken her to see it, and she had admired its reproduction Victorian styling.
In her dreams she and her dream lover were always in this bed, although in her dreams…Guiltily Annie reminded herself that she was going to be late picking up her friends if she didn’t make a move.
Her face slightly more pink than it had been, she headed downstairs.
‘Goodness, this place looks busy this evening,’ Helena commented as Annie carefully reversed her car into the single parking space left in the restaurant’s car park.
‘Yes, they did say when I originally booked the table that they were expecting a busy evening. Apparently Petrofiche are having a dinner for their new consultant marine biologist.’
‘Oh, yes, I heard they’d found someone to take Professor Salter’s place. They’ve headhunted him from one of the Gulf States, or so I’ve heard. He’s extremely highly qualified and relatively young—in his thirties. It seems he’s actually worked for Petrofiche in the past.’
‘Mmm…It’s odd to think of a marine biologist working for the petrochemical industry,’ Bob cut in.
Helena gave him a wifely smile and then exchanged a conspiratorial look with Annie as she teased him,
‘I suppose you think of marine biologists as people who make underwater films of sharks and coral reefs…’
‘No, of course I don’t,’ Bob denied, but his sheepish look gave him away.
‘These days all the large multi-nationals are keen to ensure that their customers see them as greener than green and very environmentally aware,’ Annie told them both. ‘And because of the effect any kind of oil seepage has on the world’s seas and oceans, and their life forms, for companies like Petrofiche it makes good sense to use the services of such experts.’
They were out of the car now and heading towards the restaurant. Originally a private house, it had been very successfully converted to an exclusive restaurant, complete with a conservatory area and a stunningly beautiful garden which ran down to the river. As they walked past the wrought-iron gates that led to the private garden they could see inside it, where skilful lighting illuminated several of the specimen trees as well as the courtyard area and its decorative statues.
The restaurant was owned and run by a husband and wife team in their late thirties, and as she recognised them Liz Rainford gave them a warm, welcoming smile.
‘I’ve kept you your favourite table,’ she whispered to them as she signalled to a waiter to take them through to the dining room.
Liz was on the committee of a local charity that Annie helped out, by volunteering for fund raising duties when she could, and Liz was aware of the history of Annie’s accident and her relationship with Helena and Bob.
‘I know tonight’s a special night for all of you.’ She smiled.
Their favourite table was one that was tucked quite discreetly in a corner by one of the windows, through which one could see down the length of the garden and beyond it to the river, and as their waiter settled them in their chairs and produced their menus with a theatrical flourish Annie gave a small sigh of pleasure.
Sometimes she felt almost as though she had been reborn on that morning five years ago when she had opened her eyes in her hospital bed to see Helena looking back at her. Although now she could remember her childhood and her teenage years, they were somehow in soft focus and slightly unreal, their edges blurred, so that occasionally it was hard for her to remember that those years, those memories, actually did belong to her.
It was the effect of the huge trauma her mind and body had experienced, Helena was quick to say, to comfort her when she worried about it; her mind’s way of protecting her.
The restaurant was full, with the doors to the conservatory closed to protect the privacy of the party from Petrofiche dining inside it. The girls in the office had been talking about the new consultant when Annie had been at work earlier in the week.
‘He’s got his own business and Petrofiche is just one of his clients,’ Beverley Smith, one of the senior personal assistants, had told them importantly. ‘He’ll only be coming in here a couple of days a week when he isn’t out in the field.’
‘Mmm…I wonder if he needs a PA. I certainly wouldn’t mind a couple of trips to the Barrier Reef,’ one of the other girls had remarked enviously.
‘The Barrier Reef!’ another had scoffed. ‘More like Alaska. That’s the current hot-spot for marine biologists.’
Annie had listened to their good-natured bantering with a small smile.
Although she was regularly invited out on dates by male members of the staff she never accepted. Helena had warned her gently that she was in danger of allowing her dream lover to blind her to the reality of real live potential mates, but Annie was quietly aware that there was more to her reluctance to accept dates than merely a romantic figment of her own idealistic dreams.
It was almost as though, in some way, something deep within her told her that it would be wrong for her to start seeing someone. Quite why she should think this she was at a loss to know, and, indeed, her feelings were so nebulous, so inexplicable, that she felt too foolish to even confide them to Helena. All she did know was that for some reason it was necessary for her to wait…but to wait for what?