She heard her bedroom door rattle and stiffened, but it was only Simon, come to see if she was dressed. ‘There’s only one bus every two hours,’ he reminded her. ‘If you don’t hurry, we’ll miss the next one.’
They ate breakfast alone. Eve was presumably still in bed, but Philippa wasn’t sorry to be alone with her son. This intimacy Scott had forced upon her, this sharing of the minutiae of their lives, much as though they were a long-married couple, was something that disturbed her. Sometimes in the morning, responding automatically to his request for another cup of coffee she could almost allow herself to be deceived into thinking they were married. Weakly she allowed her thoughts to drift, caught up in a pleasant world of makebelieve, jerked unpleasantly back to the everyday world when Simon said wistfully, ‘I wish my… Scott was coming with us.’
‘Simon.…’ She saw how truculent he was looking and sighed, stretching out her hand to ruffle the dark hair, so like Scott’s in colour and texture, ‘Simon, I’m so sorry,’ she said it softly, as though unwilling to utter the words. She ought to be reminding him of his own bad behaviour not apologising to him, but deep down inside her was a relentless sense of guilt which would not let her rest. If she could have perceived this day before she had lied to Scott, would she have still taken the same road? She had hurt Simon by lying to Scott, and she had no idea exactly how much damage she had done to her son in her pathetic attempts to save his father.
They caught the bus with ten minutes to spare. The route to York was a rambling one, through various small Dales villages, and not exactly unpleasant, although Simon chaffed at the length of time it took. ‘If we’d gone in Scott’s Ferrari, we’d have been there ages ago,’ he grumbled, scowling faintly when Philippa gave him a mild rebuke. ‘You mustn’t call him Scott, Simon.’
‘What should I call him then, “Dad”?’ He flushed bright red and refused to look at her, adding grumpily, ‘Anyway he said I could, call him Scott I mean. He likes me,’ he told her.
Did Simon know how guilty he made her feel? Philippa tried to concentrate on the scenery. If only they could get away from Garston she might be able to deal with the problem a little less emotively. Scott must let them leave. She would have to speak to him about it.
She bit her lip remembering how abortive her attempts to do so had proved. She had followed him one morning down to the pool, hoping to have a private word with him when he finished his morning swim, but when he had stood before her, dripping water, his body taut, and sleek, clad only in brief bathing trunks, his proximity had so overwhelmed her that she hadn’t been able to say a word.
‘What do you want, Philippa?’ he had taunted, moving so close to her that she could see the deep sapphire rim close to the pupils of his eyes. ‘To continue what Mrs Robinson so inconveniently interrupted the other evening…?’ She had fled ignominiously then, not looking back, his sardonic laughter scarring her soul.
‘Mum, we’re here,’ Simon said impatiently, tugging at her arm. ‘Come on.’ The bus had stopped and she had been so wrapped up in her thoughts she hadn’t even noticed.
They spent what was left of the morning exploring the town. Philippa knew it quite well and it hadn’t changed, although there was a far better selection of small exclusive boutiques than she remembered.
‘Shopping.’ Simon pulled a face, ‘Do we have to? Can’t I go and look at the Minster and then meet you?’
They didn’t have an awful lot of time left if they were going to make the three o’clock bus back. Simon was sensible enough not to get lost, and giving him strict instructions where to wait for her Philippa let him go.
She had been in three shops before she found what she was looking for, a soft pink skirt that emphasised her narrow waist and skimmed the slender curves of her hips. She bought a jumper to go with it, Italian knitted silk in multi-coloured pastels, and then on impulse agreed to try on the pretty cotton dress the sales assistant was showing her. Pastel blues and lilacs mingled attractively in a modern design, the dress a simple wrap-over style that was startlingly seductive once she had it on, the cotton fabric emphasising the full curves of her breasts.
‘It’s rather low-necked,’ Philippa protested, when the girl came to see how she was getting on. ‘I don’t think.…’
‘Oh, it’s not as low as all that. Come outside and see yourself full length in a proper mirror,’ the girl suggested. Unwillingly Philippa followed her, coming to an abrupt halt as the boutique door opened inwards and Scott strolled in, followed by Simon. The assistant’s eyes flickered over Simon and then Scott, lingering appreciatively on his lean frame and amused eyes, before she directed her attention rather hastily towards Philippa.
‘I thought we might find you here.’ Scott was studying her with an open appraisal that brought the blood stinging to her cheeks, her eyes throwing angry fire back at him as he smiled at her, the same engaging, heart-stopping grin she remembered from the past and which she had thought had disappeared for ever.
‘Thank you, but I don’t think I’ll bother with this one.…’ Philippa started to tell the girl, dragging her eyes away from Scott’s and anxious only to escape from the shop and discover what he was doing with Simon.
‘Oh, but.…’
‘No, you must buy it.…’
Both the girl and Scott spoke at once, ‘I like it too, Mum,’ Simon told her, ‘It makes you look… different.’
Rather than argue, Philippa gave in to their combined opposition. The dress was unsuitable for her lifestyle; she would probably never wear it, but just for a moment when Scott looked at her in it, his eyes resting fleetingly on the softly exposed curves of her breasts, she had felt seventeen again, headily in love with someone who loved and wanted her, and for that reason if no other she would buy it.
She had to wait until they were outside to discover what Scott was doing with Simon. He had business in York, he told her noncommittally and had seen Simon waiting for her as he left his accountant’s office.
‘Simon said you were shopping and I guessed you would be in one of the boutiques along here. It’s the best part of the city for dress shops.’
‘I suppose it never occurred to you that I might have gone looking for you, Simon,’ she scolded her son, trying to ignore her fierce tug of pleasure at having Scott’s company.
‘If you want to blame someone, then blame me,’ Scott interrupted. ‘In fact, had I known you intended coming to York I would have offered you a lift.’
How very polite and civilised he sounded, a panther trying to convince its victim he was nothing more dangerous than a domestic cat. Well, she knew differently.
‘Simon tells me you haven’t had lunch yet.’ He didn’t wait for her reply, his palm warm against her back as he guided her over a pedestrian crossing. Once the other side of the road had been gained, he added, ‘Why don’t you both join me? I wasn’t looking forward to a solitary meal.’
‘Thank you, but no,’ Philippa said shortly, trying to ignore the look of resentment on Simon’s face, his protesting, ‘But, Mum.…’ brought a warning look to her eyes, but it was too late, Scott had perceived her weakness and leapt at it.
‘Oh surely,’ he protested, ‘you can spare an hour. Simon tells me he’s examined the Minster from floor to ceiling. He must be hungry.’
It wasn’t fair of him to use Simon against her like this, but wasn’t that what he had been doing all along? And yet despite her anger there was a dangerous degree of pleasure in giving way to his urgings, and allowing him to guide them towards a discreetly expensive restaurant tucked away down one of the narrow lanes.