‘No need, love. Apart from the fact that you already put in more hours than you should, I believe a happy staff is a productive staff.’ Rita smiled. ‘Though you two might want to change back into normal clothes before you leave the building.’
‘We’d turn a few heads, dressed like this,’ Alex agreed, laughing.
By the time Isobel had changed, Alex had ordered a taxi, which was waiting outside for them.
‘That’s so extravagant,’ she said.
‘It’s also much easier than carrying a bouquet on the tube in the rush hour,’ he pointed out as he opened the taxi door for her, then placed the flowers on her lap before climbing in beside her.
‘I can’t believe they managed to do all this between you asking Rita if you could hijack my display, and you taking me back to my office.’
‘Everyone likes you, Bel,’ he said simply. ‘Of course they’d want to do something for you—and not wait until tomorrow, either.’
She opened the card. ‘Everyone in the department’s signed the card. Look at all these messages wishing us luck and so much happiness together.’ She blinked back the threatening tears. ‘This is all wrong. I feel such a fake, Alex.’
‘You’re not a fake. And it’s not wrong. We’ve been through this, Bel. This marriage is going to work, because we’re very, very good friends.’ He moved slightly closer, and whispered, ‘Plus we’re having great sex. Which in my book is a million times better than falling in love and being as miserable as hell.’
She frowned. ‘What happened, Alex? Who was she?’
‘Who?’
‘The woman who made you so bitter about love.’
He shrugged. ‘It was a long time ago.’
‘She must’ve hurt you a lot,’ Isobel said softly, curling her fingers round his, ‘for you to avoid a relationship for all these years.’ She couldn’t even remember him bringing anyone back to meet his parents.
‘As I said, it was a long time ago.’
‘And if you’re still hurting …’
‘I’m not. I’m over it.’ Alex sighed. ‘All right. If you have to know the gory details, I was working on my PhD. I was on a dig down on the south coast, and Dorinda lived in the next village. Like most of the locals, she’d come to take a look at what we were doing at the dig. She was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen—glamorous, with all that long dark hair and legs that went on for ever.’
So that was why he always dated stick-insect brunettes. Because he was looking for another Dorinda. Right at that moment, Isobel wished she’d never asked.
But Alex was still talking.
‘I was a geeky student who still practically had teenage spots, and I thought she was way out of my reach. But then I found out that she liked me, too.’
Geeky?
Alex had never been geeky, as far as she could remember.
Or covered in spots.
‘We had a drink together, and it snowballed from there into a mad summer affair. I spent every second with her I could. And, yeah, a lot of it was in bed.’ His expression turned grim. ‘She told me she was divorced, or I would never have started seeing her.’
Isobel believed him. Alex had a strong code of honour.
‘I was actually planning to ask her to marry me. I hadn’t got as far as choosing a ring and working out a romantic place to propose, but I was close to it. But then her husband came back. It turned out I was just a diversion because she was bored.’ His smile was tinged with bitterness. ‘I was twenty-two, remember. Still didn’t have a clue how the world worked. And would you believe I was actually stupid enough to say to her that I’d thought she loved me? She just laughed and asked me why on earth she’d want to go off with a student who had no money and no prospects of having any, when her husband was practically a millionaire.’
‘Sounds as if you had a lucky escape.’ She tightened her fingers round his again. ‘Alex, she wasn’t worth it. And if you’ve been hurting all these years over her …’
‘I haven’t been brooding on it, exactly. But it left a nasty taste in my mouth.’ He grimaced. ‘She’d cheated on her husband with me. She’d lied to us both, played us both for a fool. And I hated the fact that she’d used me to hurt someone else.’
‘Not everyone’s like that.’
‘I know. But her husband was away for long periods—just like I was. So it made me stop and think. Supposing I’d got married and left my wife on her own all the time…’
‘Your wife wouldn’t necessarily have cheated on you.’
‘Maybe not intentionally, Bel. But these things happen. With me being away so much, she would’ve been lonely. Vulnerable. An easy target for anyone who showed her the affection she wasn’t getting from me because I wasn’t there. And I didn’t want to take that kind of risk. It was easier to stay single and keep my relationships short and sweet—and to focus on my job.’
‘You’re still going to be away a lot with this job. So do you think I’m going to be unfaithful to you?’ she asked.
‘Of course I don’t.’ His eyes glittered. ‘Apart from the fact that you’re not a liar or a cheat, we’re not going into this all hormonally charged and with rose-coloured glasses on and declaring all the hearts and flowers stuff. And I hope you know that I won’t be unfaithful to you, either.’
‘This feels more like a business arrangement than a marriage.’
‘It’s not a business arrangement. It’s a sensible arrangement,’ Alex said as the taxi pulled up outside her flat. ‘And you and I will never lie to each other, so it’s going to work out just fine.’
Guilt flooded through her. Lies didn’t have to be direct; lies could also be caused by omission. And she was keeping something important from him.
She really had to tell him.
Soon.
He paid the driver, then let them in—almost, she thought, as if he’d lived there for ever and wasn’t just using her spare set of keys. ‘I need to get changed,’ he said.
‘You look good in a suit.’
‘But I hate wearing it. It makes me feel … ‘he clenched his fists and paced up and down the room ‘… “cabin’d, cribb’d, confin’d.”’
‘Ooh, get the drama king,’ she teased. ‘Though you’re more of an Antony than a Macbeth.’
‘What, an ageing roué whose brains are in his trousers?’ He pulled a face. ‘Which makes you a middle-aged tart who doesn’t have the courage of her convictions—and takes a whole act to die, while talking about making the briefest end.’
‘Oi! I like that play,’ she protested.
He smiled. ‘Next time it’s on at the Globe, we’ll go. But before you dive for the what’s on listings, I really need to wash my hair.’
She laughed. ‘You’re being prissy about your hair? Don’t tell me you’re planning to get a haircut, now you’re officially a consultant.’
‘Am I, hell,’ he scoffed. ‘My hair’s fine as it is. Well, when it’s not oiled back so I can fake a Roman haircut.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘Hey, you didn’t happen to bring that strigil home from your Roman beauty kit, did you?’
‘No,’ she said, guessing what he had in mind, ‘and I’m sure you wouldn’t like traditional Roman hygiene.’
‘I