Matty - Part 5

Matty Part 5 - Missed Call

Sapphire heard Philippa’s Porsche coming up the gravel drive and trotted over to the fence beside the double garage. Philippa opened the garage door by remote control and backed her car in beside David’s, where Samuel had left it earlier. The Jaguar’s dark green paintwork shone, and a rich smell of car polish filled the garage.

Philippa picked up her shopping from the passenger seat and, closing and locking the garage door behind her with the push of a button, she headed for the stable door at the other end of the barn. She unlocked the door and entered, torn between the urge to return Sapphire’s greeting and answering a more urgent need. She opted for the latter and walked through into the shower room to use the single toilet at the far end, noticing on the way that everything was clean and smelling of disinfectant and that there were fresh towels on the rack. She returned to the stable and unlocked the rear door, and as she opened it she was almost bowled over by Sapphire, who was keen to enter.

‘Have you missed me, my darling?’ cried Philippa, throwing an arm around Sapphire’s neck, hugging her and stroking her cheek. Sapphire returned the greeting enthusiastically, before allowing herself to be led to her stall.

Philippa replenished Sapphire’s feed and water before blowing her a kiss goodnight and locking her in. She crossed the yard to the house, carrying her keys and shopping bags and entering through the porch. She re-locked both the inner and outer porch doors before walking along the corridor to find a single message on the message-board outside Samuel’s office. It read:

Dear Mrs. Lord,

Mr. Lord caught his plane on time.
He asked me to tell you that he will
phone at about 7pm this evening.

Joyce and Marylyn finished at 12.30
and will be in on Friday as usual.

Kind regards
Samuel

Philippa walked along the corridor and through into the main kitchen in search of something to eat. As she made herself a salad, the conversation she had had earlier with David, on her mobile, went through her mind.

‘Philippa?’

‘Yes, David?’

‘Where are you? I’ve been trying the house’

‘Oh, I’m in Ilkley. I had a late lunch in Leeds with Marie. Then did some shopping. I got… I mean, I missed my train and had to wait for a later one.’

‘I don’t know why you bother with the train. It’s obviously quicker to use the car.’

‘Yeah, I think you’re right. How was your flight? And how are things at the foundry?’

‘The flight was fine. The foundry’s pretty grim though. I’m going to sack that bastard Klonowski. After he gets the mess sorted out.’

‘Where are you now, David?’

‘Hotel room. I’m just on my way down to eat. I hope the food’s better than the coffee. Coffee’s lousy in this country.’

‘When will you be back?’

‘Friday as planned, I hope. I’ll phone you in a day or two. Are you okay?

‘Yeah, I’m fine. I’ll probably take Sapphire out tomorrow, and do some gardening if it stays fine.’

‘Okay then, bye.’

‘Bye.’

Philippa topped off the salad with some green olives, poured herself a glass of white wine from the screw topped bottle in the fridge, and carried both through to the dinning room. The surface of the long walnut dinning table reflected what was left of the daylight, and the whole room smelled of furniture polish. She walked over to the French windows and looked through them at the garden and the view beyond. The sun had set behind the hills and it would soon be dark. Out of habit she checked that the French windows were locked and then continued on through the dinning room to the small TV lounge. She switched on the lamp and sat down to eat while flicking through the Radio Times to see what was on television.

***

Later, having found herself unable to concentrate on the TV drama that she was watching, Philippa decided to have an early night. She showered quickly, dried herself, and blow-dried her hair, finding it much quicker with the new short hairstyle. She brushed her hair and inspected her handiwork, congratulating herself once again on the decision to let Darren restyle it.

She brushed her teeth and took a last look in the mirror before switching out the bathroom light and walking naked across to her and David’s king sized bed. She got in and switched out her bedside lamp. It had been a long and eventful day and she was very tired.

But sleep did not come. Random thoughts cascaded through Philippa’s mind: Darren’s obvious delight at the huge tip she had given him… Marie’s reaction to her new hairstyle… What will David say? Why did I lie to David? I should have just said that I'd I missed the train, but got a lift home with a friend. Matthew is just a friend, after all. Isn’t he? Just a new friend.

Her thoughts turned to the conversation with Matthew as they left the café.

‘But I must pay you something.’

‘There’s really no need. I’d like you to take it as a gift.’

‘But it’s one of your most expensive pieces. Let me give you something, at least for the materials.’

‘No. Please accept it as a gift.’

‘Okay, but thank you very much.’

Philippa turned from her left to her right side in bed, trying to get to sleep. But her thoughts continued to keep her awake.

She remembered the drive along the Kirkstall road in Matthew’s car. It was an old car, but clean. There was a child seat in the centre of the rear seat. She had looked at the handful of cassette tapes lying in the well beneath the radio cassette player, noticing that some were old recordings by folk musicians. Two were by Bob Dylan.

‘My Dad liked Bob Dylan. Isn’t he a bit old for a young man like you?’

‘No, Dylan’s the best. Just listen to the words to "Blowin’ in the Wind” sometime. It’s a human rights anthem.

‘Are you into human rights?’

‘Used to be. I was in an Amnesty International student group. How about you?’

‘Well no, not really. But I usually put something in their tin, when they have a Flag Day.’

‘Good.’

‘Did you say your son’s name was Dylan?’

‘Yeah, I wanted to call him Bob, after Bob Dylan, but my ex didn’t like the name. But she was happy with Dylan. I’m glad. Dylan’s a better name anyway.’

‘Your ex… is Dylan’s mother?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Where is she now? If you don’t mind me asking.’

‘Don’t know for sure. London, last we heard. She walked out on us, the day after Dylan’s first birthday.’

‘Oh, I’m so sorry!’

‘We manage just fine without her. She wasn’t cut out to be a mother.’

Philippa’s thoughts turned to what had happened in the café. The way she had felt when she had handed Matthew back the gold ring and their hands had touched. In her mind’s eye she saw his face and looked once more into his clear blue eyes.

The tightness and warmth in her chest returned, together with a different warmth. She turned back to her left side, fluffing her pillow before laying her head upon it. But after a moment she propped herself up on her left elbow, switched on her bedside lamp, and reached down and opened the bottom drawer of the small bedside chest on which the lamp was standing.

The drawer contained an assortment of items: a rolled pair of socks, a near empty perfume bottle, the presentation-case for her gold Rolex watch, a couple of books and magazines, and many other small items. She began to search for something under the magazines, but stopped and picked out one of the books: Louis De Bernieres’ ‘Captain Corelli’s Mandolin’.

Philippa flicked through the pages looking for the chapter in which Pelagia’s farther had spoken to her about love, but she was unable to find it. Frustrated, she put the book back into the drawer. But the words she sought, or something close to them, came back to her anyway: Being in love is a temporarily madness. But real love between two people is like when the roots of two trees have grown together and become so entwined that they cannot part.

She began to close the drawer but then pulled it fully open again and felt under the magazines. She found the small white cylindrical device that she was looking for and pressed a switch with her thumb to check that it was working. Then, keeping hold of the device, she closed the drawer, turned off the lamp, and made herself comfortable, this time lying on her back.

It was then that the bedroom door opened and Matthew Gower padded silently across the room. He stooped to the lamp and turned it on, and stood looking down at Philippa. He was wearing David’s blue bath robe. Philippa pushed aside the quilt and revealed her naked body while Matthew untied the chord of the bath robe, opening the robe and slipping it off his shoulders. As it fell to the floor Philippa looked up at his firm muscled naked torso, his lust for her clearly evident.

Later in the darkness, Philippa’s left hand and arm came out from under the quilt, and something slipped from her fingers and landed softly on the carpet. Minutes later she was asleep.

***

Matthew awoke from a dream. He knew that it was a weird dream but could not remember it. He was about to look over to his digital alarm clock, but then he remembered that he was not in his own bedroom in Birmingham but still at his uncle and aunt’s house in Scarford. He could hear the steady breathing of his son, Dylan, in the smaller bed across the room.

He had sat up late, talking to his uncle and helping him to see off a bottle of whiskey. Then on going to bed he had fallen asleep almost immediately. Now he could smell the whiskey on his breath. He could also smell, he imagined, perfume. Philippa’s perfume. He recalled that as he had dropped her off in Ilkley he had suddenly realised that he knew her only as Mrs. Lord. Their conversation came back to him.

‘Thanks, Matthew.’

‘My pleasure, err… I don’t know your first name.’

‘Oh, sorry. It’s Philippa. Thanks, and have a safe journey tomorrow. And thanks again for the broach.’

‘My pleasure, Philippa. Err, will you be at the church fête?’

‘Yes, I think so. Will you?’

‘Yeah, my uncle’s asked me to help out. So I’ll see you there. And I’ll bring your ring. I’ll have it dated by then.’

‘Okay, thanks, bye.’

‘Bye.’

He had learned more about Philippa from his uncle; his uncle’s tongue well loosened by the whiskey. She was older than he had thought. He considered again what had happened in the café in Leeds. What was it about her? He wanted her, but what chance did he have? She was married to a rich and successful man. She was out of his league.

He recognised his own loneliness. He had not had a woman since Janine had left him; except for that student party over a year ago. And that time when one of the Birmingham street girls had propositioned him. What a disappointment that had been. But at least he’d had the sense to take precautions. The lines of one of his favourite Simon and Garfunkel songs came to mind.

…Just a come-on from the whores on Seventh Avenue
I do declare
There were times when I was so lonesome
I took some comfort there…

He thought of Philippa again, imagining her in a different setting, in his room back in Birmingham. He felt a stirring in his loins. Suddenly Dylan began to cry.

‘It’s okay, Dylan, I’m here. What’s the matter?’

‘Got toothache. Can I come in your bed?’

TO BE CONTINUED