Out of the Blue. Isabel Wolff

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      ‘Even the weather’s improved,’ I added with a laugh. ‘The anti-cyclonic gloom has lifted and there are blue skies ahead.’ Peter smiled. ‘And did you take Andy to the Ritz?’ I enquired as our main course arrived – swordfish for me and breast of chicken for him.

      ‘Er … yes,’ he replied. ‘I did. We went there on, um, Tuesday.’

      ‘Well,’ I said as I picked up my knife and fork, ‘personally I think Andy’s just fab.’ We chatted away like this as we ate, and at last Peter began to relax. I glanced at the black-and-white photo on the wall beside us and realised that it was Marianne Faithfull. And somehow that made me remember Lily’s request. I didn’t want to ask Peter directly, so I just said, ‘Darling, I’m so sorry I ever doubted you. It was horrid of me. Obviously those flowers were for Clare Barry.’ He looked at me. ‘Weren’t they?’

      ‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘They were.’

      ‘And as for those cigarettes – well, so what? – why shouldn’t you have the occasional fag? It was so silly of me to over-react like that, Peter. I’ve trusted you for fifteen years, darling, and I’ve no intention of stopping now. I know you’ve never had an affair,’ I went on with a tipsy giggle, ‘and I don’t believe you would.’ He was silent. ‘Because I know you always tell the truth.’ I had a sip of wine. ‘Don’t you, darling? Because the simple fact is that you’re a very decent and honourable man. And you’re so truthful, too, in fact that’s what I love about you most and I just want to say how –’

      ‘Faith,’ said Peter suddenly. ‘Please stop.’ He was fiddling with his knife and he had this peculiar expression on his face. ‘There’s something I want to tell you,’ he said.

      ‘Darling, whatever it is, it doesn’t matter.’

      ‘It does matter, Faith. It matters to me.’

      ‘Peter,’ I said, then took another large sip of Bordeaux, ‘whatever it is it’s not important tonight.’

      ‘It is,’ he corrected me. ‘It is. It’s very important, actually. Because you’re sitting here telling me what a great guy I am, and quite frankly I can’t stand it.’

      ‘Oh darling, I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I didn’t mean to embarrass you. It’s just that I’m feeling so happy and I’ve probably had a bit too much to drink, and I’m just trying to make it up to you for being such a suspicious cow.’

      ‘But that’s the whole point,’ he said. ‘That’s precisely what I can’t stand.’

      ‘Why?’

      ‘Faith,’ he said, fiddling with his glass, ‘I’ve done something rather … silly.’

      ‘You’ve done something silly?’ I echoed. ‘Oh Peter, I’m sure it’s nothing.’

      ‘It isn’t nothing,’ he said.

      ‘Really, Peter –’

      ‘No, darling, listen to me,’ he said as he locked his gaze in mine. I saw him breathe in. Then out. ‘Faith,’ he murmured. ‘I’ve been unfaithful.’ My wine-glass stopped in mid-air.

      ‘Sorry?’

      ‘No,’ he said, ‘I’m sorry – because I’ve slept with someone else.’

      ‘Oh,’ I said, aware that my face was suddenly aflame.

      ‘But it was only once,’ he added, ‘and it doesn’t matter.’

      ‘Oh,’ I said again.

      ‘But the reason I’m telling you is because, well, we are about to enter a new era, yes, a new chapter; and I knew I just couldn’t live with myself unless I’d made a clean breast.’

      ‘Oh,’ I said again. For some reason it seemed to be the only word I knew.

      ‘You see, Faith,’ he went on as he stared at his uneaten chicken, ‘you’ve been going on at me all evening about how “honest” and “truthful” I am. So I can’t bear to conceal from you the fact that … ’

      ‘What?’

      ‘Well, that I’ve had this little … fling.’

      ‘A fling?’ I echoed. ‘With whom?’

      ‘Look,’ he said wearily, ‘that’s not important. It’s over now. It was a stupid mistake, and it’s not going to happen again.’

      ‘I’m sorry, darling,’ I said, struggling to remain composed. ‘But I don’t think it’s fair of you to tell me you’ve had a – fling, and then refuse to say who it was with, because … Oh God, Peter,’ I added, my throat suddenly constricting. ‘You’ve been unfaithful to me.’

      ‘Yes,’ he said, quietly, ‘I have. But it’s not important,’ he repeated. ‘I was put under pressure. I – I’d had a few drinks, it was just … one of those things.’

      ‘Please tell me who it was with?’ I said again, aware that my palms felt damp.

      ‘I –’

      ‘Please, Peter. I’d like to know.’

      ‘Well … ’

      ‘Just give me her name, will you?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘Go on, tell me!’

      ‘I can’t.’

      ‘Yes you can!’

      ‘Look, I –’

      ‘Give me her name, Peter.’

      ‘OK,’ he sighed. ‘It’s Andy Metzler.’ My hands flew up to my mouth.

      ‘You’ve had sex with a man?!’ Peter was staring at me. He looked shocked.

      ‘No, it’s all right,’ he said. ‘You don’t understand.’

      ‘It’s not all right,’ I shot back. ‘It is absolutely NOT all right, Peter!’

      ‘Yes it is,’ he insisted.

      ‘No, it damn well isn’t –’

      ‘Yes it is, Faith, because, you see – Andy’s a woman.’

      ‘What?’

      ‘Andy Metzler’s a woman,’ he repeated. I gasped.

      ‘You never told me that.’

      ‘You never asked.’

      ‘But you never said. It’s been “Andy this, and Andy that” – I had no idea he was a she.’

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