Page 63 of The Love Letter
‘No, they have absolutely promised delivery of my new bed and I have to go straight home to meet them at five thirty.’ Joanna threw her dress over her head.
‘I could come and help you make up the bed,’ he said hopefully.
‘Tell you what, I’ll give you a ring from work.’ Joanna put on her jacket and picked up her rucksack. She kissed him. ‘Thanks for last night.’
‘And this morning,’ he reminded her, as he opened the front door.
‘Yes. By the way, would you call Zoe for me?’
He kissed her on the nose. ‘Leave it with me, ma’am.’
Marcus watched her leave, then stretched, his muscles feeling deliciously sore from last night. Crawling back into bed, he fell asleep again within minutes.
The telephone woke him at one o’clock. He ran for it, hoping it was Joanna.
‘Marcus Harrison?’ a male voice inquired.
‘Yes?’
‘You may not remember me, but I was five years above you at Wellington College. My name’s Ian, Ian Simpson.’
‘Yeah . . . actually, I think I do remember you – you were head boy, weren’t you? How’re you doing?’
‘Fine, just fine. Listen, how do you fancy getting together for a drink? Discuss old times, you know.’
‘Er . . . When were you thinking of?’
‘Tonight actually. Why don’t you meet me at the St James Club?’
‘Can’t, I’m afraid. I’m already booked.’ Marcus wondered why on earth Ian Simpson would want an urgent drink with him out of the blue. He couldn’t remember a single conversation they had ever conducted – at school, Marcus had always steered clear of him and his renowned sadistic tendencies towards the younger boys.
‘Could you cancel, by any chance? There’s something we should talk about, which might be to your financial benefit.’
‘Really? Well, I suppose I could make it around seven.’
‘Perfect, as long as you don’t mind me shooting off. Look forward to it.’
‘Yeah, bye.’ Marcus put the telephone down and shrugged in puzzlement. Later on, just before he was leaving, he dialled Joanna.
‘Hello, sweetheart, did your bed arrive?’
‘Yes, thank God. The woman upstairs only just caught them as they were about to leave. Itoldthe delivery people to ring the upstairs bell if I wasn’t at home. Oh well, at least it’s here now.’
‘Want me to help test out the new bed later on? I’m highly qualified, I can assure you,’ he said with a smirk to himself.
‘I’m sure you are,’ Joanna drawled sarcastically. ‘How about we take it slow and watch a film instead? I’ve got the new telly all set up,’ she added. ‘You could bringNo Way Out.’
‘Really, Jo? Didn’t I mention how depressing that film is? And I should know, I produced it,’ Marcus said.
‘Really.’ She gave an inward smile at his embarrassment. ‘I want to see what you helped create. I’ll get the popcorn. Deal?’
‘Deal, but I get to say “I told you so” when you end up hating it.’
‘We’ll see. Bye, Marcus.’
‘Bye, darling.’
As he walked into the bar at the St James Club, Marcus recognised Ian Simpson instantly, although his round face and angular chin had already begun to soften into fleshy pouches.A drinker, Marcus thought as Ian walked towards him, his burly frame reminding him that Ian had been the captain of the first XV rugby team. He’d led the team to victory, and had taken no prisoners whilst doing so.
