Free The Horse Dancer by Jojo Moyes

reached for his arm. ‘A drink would be good, though. I’ve hardly seen you all week.’
    They walked briskly through the relative peace of Lincoln’s Inn and out into the crowded, bustling street. The sun bounced off the pavement as they crossed to the pub, so that Natasha was peeling off her jacket before they got there.
    ‘I can’t make this weekend,’ Conor said pre-emptively, as they stood at the bar. ‘I’ve got the boys. I thought I should let you know early.’
    Conor’s two sons were five and seven, apparently far too damaged and vulnerable to be alerted to the existence of Daddy’s girlfriend even though he had been divorced from their mother for more than a year. Natasha tried not to look as disappointed as she felt. ‘Shame,’ she said lightly. ‘I’d booked the Wolseley.’
    ‘You’re kidding.’
    She tried to smile. ‘Nope. It’s our six-month anniversary, in case you hadn’t noticed.’
    ‘And there was me thinking you were a hard-headed unromantic.’
    ‘You don’t have the monopoly on nice gestures, you know,’ she said coquettishly. ‘I guess I’ll have to find someone else to take.’
    This possibility didn’t seem to trouble him. He ordered their drinks, then turned back to her. ‘She’s going to Dublin for the weekend.’ His ex-wife was always ‘she’. ‘So I’ve got them from Friday till Monday morning. God only knows what I’m going to do with the pair. They want to go ice skating. Ice skating , would you believe? And it’s eighty degrees out.’
    Natasha sipped her drink, wondering whether it was worth volunteering. If he had to refuse her company a second time there would be a definite atmosphere. Pretending there was no possibility that she might want to accompany him made it safer, easier, for all. ‘I’m sure you’ll work something out,’ she said carefully.
    ‘What about Monday night? I could come straight to yours if you like. Be oiled and ready for you.’
    ‘I guess I’ll take what I can get,’ she said, keeping any hint of bitterness out of the words. Why wouldn’t he introduce her to his sons? Was theirs a transitional relationship, so that it was not worth them getting to know her? Or, worse, did she give off an unmaternal air that made him afraid to introduce them?
    Natasha dealt with conflict all day in court, and the past year had left her with little appetite for it in her personal life. ‘Monday, then,’ she said, smiling.
    They finished their wine, discussed work issues, and Conor proffered advice on a judge she had to face the following week. They parted at the pub door, and she returned to her office for another hour. She rang her mother, listened to a litany of her father’s health concerns, and tried to imply a social life when her mother asked about it. At nine she locked up, walked out into the late-summer evening and hailed a taxi home.
    She watched the London streets fly by, couples strolling lazily out of pubs and restaurants. The world was full of couples when you were alone. Perhaps she should have gone out with Conor, but her work was the only constant in her life. If she let it slide to have dinner with him, her whole life would have been for nothing.
    Suddenly she felt overwhelmingly sad and fished in her bag for a tissue, then forced herself to look at one of tomorrow’s files. C’mon, Natasha, get a grip, she willed herself, wondering why she felt so unbalanced. The answer wasn’t hard to find.
    She closed the file, then studied the text messages that had just arrived. She took a deep breath and typed,
    Locks unchanged. Come when you like. If late, please leave light on and shut curtains when you go.
     

Four
     
    ‘The sweetest of all sounds is praise.’
     
    Xenophon, On Horsemanship
     
    When she arrived Ralph was at the gates. She looked at him quizzically, then checked her watch. Twelve years old, he rarely got up before midday. School, Ralph claimed, was an optional extra. He kept largely nocturnal hours.