Free Kiss by Jill Mansell Page B

you spoken to Andrew yet?’
     
    ‘No.’ Sam, who intended phoning him that afternoon, was able to reply honestly. ‘I’m going to the club. And I have to sort out some transport - I’ll rent something for now - then I thought I’d take a look at some properties. Who knows,’ he added teasingly, ‘I may end up living next door. Isn’t that the most terrifying thought ever?’
     
    ‘It’s not a terrifying thought,’ said Gina, realizing that he was attempting to cheer her up. Giving him a quick, awkward kiss on the cheek, she said, ‘And you don’t have to rush out and buy the first thing you see. It’s lovely having you here.’
     
    Her utter inability to lie was one of her most endearing traits. Ruffling her smooth, blonde hair, Sam said, ‘Thank you, sweetheart.’ Then he grinned and added, ‘But a word of advice. If you were thinking of going into politics . . . don’t.’
     
     
    Old friendships died hard and Sam had no intention of criticizing Andrew’s actions. These things happened, longstanding marriages bit the dust every day and Sam wasn’t about to apportion blame. In the long run it could well turn out to be the best thing that could have happened to both Gina and Andrew.
     
    As long as Andrew, he reflected drily as he drove towards the Barbican in his extremely clean, newly rented car, hadn’t made the biggest, most Godawful mistake of his life.
     
     
    The tapas bar was crowded with after-work commuters having a drink before bracing themselves for the journey home. Although there were a couple of free tables outside - it was a mild, sunny afternoon that had seen the seasonal re-emergence of the Ray-Bans - Andrew evidently preferred the gloom of the bar’s interior. As he paid for a bottle of Rioja and a bowl of tapas, Sam observed that he, too, had lost weight; his charcoal-grey suit was too big for him and the collar of his shirt was loose. It was six months since he’d last seen him and he looked five years older.
     
    ‘So, are you happy?’
     
    Andrew filled their glasses and grimaced. ‘I’ve done it, haven’t I? Too late to change my mind now.’
     
    Sam said nothing, waiting for him to continue. Listening to other people was what he was good at.
     
    ‘You’ll meet her,’ Andrew continued, glancing at his watch. ‘She’s joining us at six-thirty. God . . . I don’t know . . . I thought I was in love with her, but it isn’t easy. If opposites really do attract, she and Gina should get on like a house on fire. Do you know, she hasn’t cooked a single meal since we’ve been in that flat?’
     
    ‘Does she work?’ asked Sam mildly, trying not to smile.
     
    ‘Handed in her notice the day I left Gina. She doesn’t do any housework . . . she doesn’t do anything .’ Andrew spilled his wine in his agitation. ‘Hell, we’d have a nice view if we could only see out of the windows. So we go out instead; I spend a fortune I can’t afford in Italian restaurants because she’s developed a craving for spaghetti alle vongole , and we spend every evening telling each other how lucky we are to have found each other. Then we go back to the flat and screw ourselves stupid. After that,’ he concluded lamely, ‘Marcy falls asleep and I iron a shirt for the following day.’
     
    ‘Is she happy, do you think?’ said Sam, by this time seriously struggling to keep a straight face.
     
    ‘Is the Pope Catholic?’ Andrew riposted. ‘Of course she’s happy - she doesn’t do a single thing she doesn’t want to do, she has everything she’s ever wanted . . .’
     
    ‘So, what are you going to do?’
     
    Andrew spread his hands in despair. ‘Haven’t I done enough? She’s having my child - because she couldn’t even be bothered to remember to take the bloody Pill - and I’ve left my wife. There’s nothing I can do now, except live with it.’ He shook his head, then drained his glass, pushing the bowl of tapas away untouched. ‘Lust isn’t love, Sam. Take a