A Woman of Our Times. Rosie Thomas

nobody’s fault,’ Harriet answered. ‘We didn’t make each other happy. Someone, or something, else will.’ She didn’t think he heard the qualification. It was for herself, in any case, not for Charlie. ‘Thanks for your advice. I think I’ll take the rest of it, and go and dance with the man in the blouse.’

      Harriet was leaning over him. Without thinking, Charlie reached up and slid his hand inside her red shirt. He held one warm, bare breast in the cup of his palm. The weight of it felt nice, comforting.

      Harriet smiled and gently removed his hand. She had lived naked for a month on a Greek beach with Charlie Thimbell; it would be prudish to object to his touch. And it gave her a small shock of pleasure that was not particularly sexual. It was more a thrill of novelty, of freedom.

      ‘Thanks,’ she said again. Charlie watched her as she retreated down the stairs. It was years since he had asked himself whether or not he found Harriet physically attractive. He supposed that at some stage he had decided not, because he preferred women who were pretty, and seemingly pliant, like Jenny. Yet tonight he had felt some charge in Harriet that was definitely stimulating. It was probably a good thing, he reflected, that she had separated from Leo Gold. He was afraid that it would be less of a good thing for her to divert her energies into marketing some game.

      Charlie’s thoughts completed a circle and returned to Jenny. He felt a mixture of tenderness, exasperation, and the chafing of his own grief. He wanted to find a way to assuage Jenny’s sorrow, but the extent of it seemed as daunting as the sea. She had retreated into the depths of it. They had not made love since the baby had died. The brief flicker of desire that Charlie had felt for Harriet transferred itself to Jenny, and steadied.

      Charlie stood up. It was time to take Jenny away from this party, away home to bed.

      Downstairs again, Harriet was drawn into the party. There were other friends to see, some who were close and others she was glad to catch up with. She drank some wine, found herself laughing, and talking over the music as the circles formed and reformed. It was a good party. Harriet caught a glimpse of Jane dancing with a man in a blue shirt, and was pleased that she was enjoying herself too.

      Charlie and Jenny looked in at the door, both wearing their coats. Harriet waved, and blew a kiss.

      The dancing started seriously. Jane’s teacher colleague found Harriet and drew her into it. He was quite drunk, and he wound his arms around her as if without her support he might fall down. He mumbled hotly in her ear, ‘You’re asking for trouble, coming without your husband.’ Harriet removed his hands, less affectionately than Charlie’s.

      As soon as she could she disengaged herself and wandered through to the kitchen. The smock and ponytail man was noisily drinking soup from a Royal Wedding mug. Harriet introduced herself and discovered in quick succession, that his name was Bernard, that he was a vegan and an amateur astrologer, and that he wasn’t the kind of man to whom she wanted to talk for a second longer than was necessary. To her relief, the girl in the embroidered blouse came to claim him.

      Harriet turned away and with automatic energy began to clear the empty bottles from Jane’s tiled work-top. When that was done she emptied the sink of dirty plates and glasses, and stacked them neatly on the draining board ready to be washed. As she worked she was reflecting that she had come to the party in search of something, and that she had failed to find it. It wasn’t as a replacement for what she had lost with Leo, not love, of course, and equally certainly not sex.

      She picked up a tea-towel and began to dry some plates, wiping carefully and then stopping to stare into the black glass of the window that reflected the room behind her. She saw Jane’s plum-coloured outfit move in a blur of other people. Jane had given up hostessing in favour of having a good time. Harriet smiled. What she had found at the party was the company of friends. The warmth that had greeted her stayed with her, buoying her up.

      When she looked into the window again, she saw the reflection of a man behind her. He was wearing a bright blue shirt, the sleeves rolled to the elbows. She had seen the same man earlier, dancing with Jane.

      Then from behind her shoulder he asked, ‘Is that more interesting than mingling with your fellow-guests?’

      He spoke with an accent, Yorkshire or perhaps even further north. Harriet turned round. She was irritated by his suggestion, but at the same time she saw how she must have looked, back turned to the room and arms plunged in the sink.

      ‘I have mingled,’ she said. The man was very good-looking. She wondered why she hadn’t noticed him before, then tried briefly to work out how much wine she had drunk before abandoning the calculation. ‘Then I saw that this needed doing. I thought I’d help Jane out a bit.’ There was no need to justify herself; she hoped she wasn’t doing it because he had black curly hair and a face that made her think of a prize-fighter’s before the puffy disfigurement.

      ‘Jane?’

      Harriet was startled. ‘This is Jane’s party. Jane’s house. You were dancing with her an hour ago.’ She felt lighthearted. She didn’t immediately connect the lightheartedness with relief at finding that he didn’t know who Jane was.

      ‘That Jane. I’ve just met her. I’m staying with some people and they brought me along. I didn’t know anyone when I arrived, including Jane.’

      He shrugged, an attractive, apologetic shrug, and Harriet smiled at him.

      ‘I’ll stop washing up if you can find me a drink.’

      He rummaged amongst the half-full bottles and poured out two glasses of wine. They stood in the corner by the fridge, where Harriet had found Charlie at the beginning of the evening, and made the conversation of strangers meeting at a party. The man’s name was David. The more Harriet looked at him, the more attractive he appeared.

      ‘Are you married, Harriet?’ David was looking down at her hands.

      ‘I was,’ she said neutrally.

      ‘So was I.’

      A moment ago they had been talking about restoring houses. The mutual admission seemed at once to put them on a different footing. Harriet felt breathless and then surprised. The music from the other room had stopped for a while, but now it suddenly began again. The party was in its last, noisy throes. David took her glass out of her hand.

      ‘Come and dance with me.’

      The living room was darkened, almost empty now. One other couple was dancing, with the music booming around them. David took her hand and they began to dance. He held her differently from the drunk teacher. The difference was that he did it right. Harriet closed her eyes, letting the music take her over. David was humming under his breath, his face close to hers. She thought how good it was to be held. How good, and how easy. They danced for quite a long time, and then something happened. David shifted his position slightly, moving from one side to squarely in front of her. He put his hands round her waist, and she knew that he was going to draw her hips against his. Then he would kiss her.

      Harriet opened her eyes. The music became just a noise, although The Police were singing the same song. She didn’t want anyone to kiss her. It was a long time since anyone but Leo had done so, and she didn’t want this now. But all the time she was thinking don’t, Harriet also knew that it would be exciting to take this man home with her, and let him warm her bed and her body. It was a long time since she had done anything of the kind, but she hadn’t forgotten. They would steal into a dark room, and then blink at each other in the unwelcome light. They would take hold of each other, and their clothes would drop in tangled heaps as the two of them fastened together.

      She remembered how imperative it was, and all the myriad welcome demands that came afterwards. Not just for a night and a day, something told her, but for a long time afterwards.

      Only Harriet was impatient. She didn’t have any time, now, to give to the absorbing conspiracies of love.

      She looked carefully at David’s face. It was a good face, one that would have stared out of a crowd at her. And behind David she saw two more of her friends, preparing to leave. Harriet