Free Out of the Blue by Isabel Wolff Page B

afraid they never arrived; there seems to have been
a mix-up, could you just confirm which address you sent them to…
    “Hello, Floribunda, can I help you?” said a pleasant-sounding
female voice.
    “I—I—” I put the phone down, aware that the handset was wet
with sweat. I just couldn’t do it. I didn’t want to know. I could feel the
urgent banging of my heart as I sat on the foot of the stairs. Peter was having
an affair. I had been happy so I had nothing known, I remembered as my hands sprang up to my face. So now,
forever, Farewell, the tranquil mind… I sat there, gazing at the gold
sunburst mirror Lily had given us for our wedding. I stared at it for a minute
or two, too shocked to know what to do. Then suddenly I gasped, and smiled, then
smacked my forehead, hard, with the palm of my hand.
    “You IDIOT, Faith!” I shouted. “You STUPID IDIOT!” I’d suddenly
remembered, you see. His mother’s birthday’s on December the eighteenth. I’d
organized the birthday card, and signed it, and we’d given her a silver photo
frame. And now it was obvious that Peter had decided to send her flowers as
well. Of course. That was it! I flung my arms round the startled dog.
    “I’m a very silly Mummy,” I said as Graham nervously licked my
ear, “and I got it completely wrong.” I felt so mean for having suspected Peter,
especially when he’s got so much on his mind. I felt mean, and low, and somehow
tarnished. Now, I resolved as I picked up the credit card folder, I’d never
distrust him again. Then I went into the kitchen and made myself a cup of
coffee—real coffee by way of celebration. And the heady aroma of arabica had
filled the air and I was feeling quite mellow again, calmly flicking through the
rest of Moi! when I heard the trill of the
telephone.
    “Hello, Faith,” said Sarah. “I just wanted to thank you for
organising that lovely party last week. I did enjoy myself,” she added warmly,
“and it was wonderful to see the children—they’re so grown up.”
    “Oh, they are,” I said with a wistful smile.
    “And I thought it was so sweet the way you arranged it as a
surprise for Peter.”
    “I wanted to cheer him up,” I explained. “I expect he’s told
you that he’s got a few worries at work.”
    “Well, yes,” she said. “He phoned me last night. I’m sure it
will all work out, but I must say he is a bit
distracted at the moment.”
    “Yes,” I agreed. “He is. In fact,” I went on enthusiastically,
in a way I was shortly to regret, “he’d even forgotten that it was our
anniversary and he’s never done that before.”
    “Well,” Sarah exclaimed with a little laugh, “he actually
forgot my birthday!”
    “ Sorry?” It was like falling down a
mineshaft. “I’m sorry, Sarah, what did you say?”
    “He forgot my birthday,” she repeated. “And he’s normally so
thoughtful like that. I mean, I got your card of course, and that lovely frame,
but Peter usually gives me a little something extra, just from him, but for the
first time ever, he didn’t. Not a thing. But please don’t mention it to him,” she added quickly. “He’s got enough on his
plate right now.”
    “So you didn’t get…?” I began faintly.
    “Get what?”
    “You didn’t get any…?” I heard the sudden, sharp ring of her
doorbell.
    “Oh, I’ve got to go,” she said, “my bridge partners have just
turned up. Let’s chat another time soon, Faith. Bye.”
    I replaced the receiver very slowly. “Oh God,” I said to
Graham. “Oh God,” I repeated, breathing more quickly. “Who the hell did he send
those flowers to, and what on earth shall I do?” I consulted the magazine again.
Under the box headed, “Action Stations!” was the following advice: On no account let your husband know that you have doubts
about his fidelity. However hard it is you MUST carry on as though
absolutely nothing is amiss .
    * * *
    “So how was it today, darling?” I enquired with phoney
brightness as