Part Eighty-Nine
On the Friday evening, George knew that the time had come for her to talk to John about Connie. As she lay in the bath around seven, she tried to plan what she would say to him. She certainly wanted to know why he'd slept with Connie, above and beyond the obvious, and she definitely wanted to know how it had made him feel. George was all too aware that she hadn't slept with John very much lately, and she couldn't help but wonder if his sleeping with Connie was somehow her fault. If she had been able to keep her lack of enjoyment from John, she would probably have slept with him more often just to make sure that a fiasco like Connie didn't happen. But George also knew this to be a fruitless wish, because John always managed to see through her act if she attempted to fake it with him.
When she went downstairs, Kay was sitting in the lounge reading the paper. "I'm going out," She said as she stood in the lounge doorway. "Anywhere nice?" Kay asked, looking up from The Guardian. "I'm going to see John, to try and sort some of this mess out. I might not be back until tomorrow morning. Can you entertain yourself for this evening?" "Of course," Kay replied with a smile. "Can I borrow your computer? I need to check up on a week's worth of e-mails." "Yes, help yourself," George told her. "I would say have a nice time," Kay said kindly. "But I think that good luck might be more appropriate." "As long as I can keep my temper in check, things should remain at least vaguely civil," George responded ruefully. "However, I do reserve the right to remain at least slightly angry."
As she drove over to John's flat, George hoped that he would be in and that he did still want to see her. She couldn't blame him if he did everything possible to avoid another confrontation with her, because she herself probably would if she was in his position. But George wasn't looking for a confrontation, not tonight, because she simply didn't have the energy for it. She wanted explanations, and she wanted some answers, but as to what might happen afterwards, she didn't know. If she was honest with herself, she knew that what she really wanted was some comfort. Not necessarily sex, but a pair of strong, male arms, and the type of sheltering embrace that only John could give her. Being with Jo was somehow different, because George even now usually felt that she needed to be the one in control, if such a phrase was appropriate. She didn't know why she always felt like this with Jo, it was just something she had noticed over the last few months.
John was surprised to see George at his door, especially after the argument they'd had on Tuesday. She looked tired, on edge, and in need of a strong, warm hug. "This is a surprise," John said guardedly as he opened his front door to her, noticeably not acknowledging whether it was nice or not. "I thought it was about time that we talked," George said, just as guardedly. "Don't you?" "That depends on whether or not you still want to shout at me," John replied half affectionately. "No, I don't," George told him, her voice slightly constricted with all the feelings she was vehemently trying to suppress. "Would you like a glass of wine?" John asked her, seeing the severe reining in of all her emotions, and wanting nothing more than to soothe all the pain away, pain that he had undoubtedly caused. Agreeing to this time buying prop, George sat down at one end of the sofa, and when Mimi jumped up beside her, George began running her fingers through the dog's silky black fur. When John returned and handed her the glass of red wine, he smiled down at Mimi, sprawled on her back with her legs in the air and her head against George's thigh. "She'll go to sleep like that if you keep on doing that to her." "I used to do this to whichever dog Daddy had when I was a child," George told him with a smile of remembrance. "I always found it very therapeutic." After taking a sip of her wine and putting the glass down on the coffee table, George approached the forbidden subject. "John, I need to know why you slept with Connie." John was sitting in an armchair off to the side, gazing up at the ceiling so that he didn't have to look directly into George's saddened eyes. "Would it help if I said that I'm not entirely sure why?" He asked, unable to immediately put everything into words. "No, it wouldn't," George told him firmly. "I need to make some sense of all this, so that I might just find a way of preventing it from happening again." "George, you don't seriously think this is your fault?" John asked in total amazement. "You can't blame me for wondering," George replied disgustedly. "And if it is, you'll appreciate that I'd like to know." "What makes you think this is your fault?" He asked her, immediately turning the conversation onto her rather than him, a situation he definitely preferred. "Well, it's not as though I've been very forthcoming in that respect recently, now is it." John stared at her, a maelstrom of feelings buzzing around his brain. He was angry, because never would he be critical of a woman who went off sex once in a while. He was saddened, to think that George could have blamed herself for something he'd done. He was also slightly insulted, that she thought he would be quite so crass and unkind. "Are you going to deny it?" She taunted him, perhaps trying to goad him into that fight she had been hell bent on avoiding. "Of course I deny it," He replied hotly. "Yes, I had noticed that making love didn't appear to be on your agenda at the moment, and I really couldn't say why. But that has absolutely nothing to do with why I slept with Connie Beauchamp." "Well, forgive me if I don't believe you," George said a little scathingly. "Tell me, if I had been giving you your usual quota, would you still have had sex with her?" "I don't know," He insisted vehemently, cursing the day she'd become any type of advocate. "Yes, I might have done." "But why?" She asked again. "Why, if you're still happy with me and Jo, would you jeopardise it so fecklessly?" "There was nothing feckless about it," He threw back at her, now almost content to give her the fight that part of her was looking for. "Well, that's a matter of opinion," She replied scornfully, trying to suppress the rising tide of tears that were threatening to drown her in their intensity. "Fine," John said as he got to his feet. "If you really want to know what went through my head, I'll tell you, but you won't like it." He began pacing from one end of the room to another, thoughtfully taking the occasional sip from his glass. George just sat and watched him, knowing that she was about to get far more than she'd bargained for.
"All afternoon as I watched Connie on the stand, I wanted her. There was a power coming off her, something infinitely desirable that I wanted then and there. Every word she uttered made me want her all the more. Everything about that voice seemed perfect to me, that essence of culture combined with a purely erotic huskiness that one couldn't fail to be aroused by. You saw her, so you know just how enchanting she looked. You've got no idea just how much I wanted to tangle with that sharp, forceful, fiery personality. So, after court, I asked Coope to summon Connie to see me. Coope's not stupid, she knew that I was about to break every rule in the book, and she warned me off doing it." "I must remember to thank her the next time I see her," George put in dryly. "When Connie appeared, she looked a million dollars, even after an afternoon on the stand. She positively exuded sexual tension from every pore." John knew that he was being pretty brutal, but George had wanted to know, so he was telling her. "She knew why I had summoned her, and she certainly wasn't backward in coming forward. The way she said My Lord, it made me feel invincible, as though the entire world was mine to conquer. She challenged me, suggesting that I might not be up to meeting her very exacting standards, and you know what I'm like when someone gives me a challenge. When I kissed her, it was like putting a spark to petrol. She was as eager as I was for what came next, if not more so. Her skin was rich and warm, holding the sort of glow yours usually does when you're happy and healthy. I don't think I've ever slept with a woman quite so adept at getting what she wanted. Every movement had a purpose behind it, and every expression of pleasure was calculated to make me finally lose control. If I'm honest, I think that's why she agreed to it so easily, because the thought of having power over a high court judge was as potent as an aphrodisiac to her. For a random liaison after a long day in court, she was red hot, and writhed under me like a bucking bronco." "Stop it," George told him bitterly, his words slicing through her like so many well-trained knives. "What's the matter, George?" He taunted her cruelly. "I thought you wanted to know why I slept with her, or are the details just a little too enlightening for you." She had bitter tears running down her face by this time, and he knew that he'd definitely gone way too far.
Sensing George's distress, Mimi stood up on the sofa, staring at John, and growling as he moved towards them. John stared at her, Mimi never having growled at him before, never having showed any sign of aggression since he'd had her. "Shh, sweetheart, it's all right," George said, scratching the dog's head and trying to calm her down. "Just tell me one thing," She said to John, still stroking Mimi's head. "Precisely why do you still love me? And don't tell me it's because of Charlie."
Sitting down at the other end of the sofa, John ran his fingers through Mimi's fur, using the action to give him some much needed thinking time. He knew he loved George, but he didn't entirely know why, and he certainly couldn't explain it. "Is it really so difficult to put into words?" George asked, his inability to do so clearly hurting her. "George, I love you purely and simply because you're you. Isn't that enough?" John told her, suddenly sounding defeated. "No, it's not enough," George said, hating herself for crying because it revealed her vulnerability all too clearly for him. "John, I don't know what it is you want from me any more. I can't seem to keep you happy in bed any more, and no, that isn't your fault, it's mine." "Bed isn't just why I love you," John told her earnestly. "But it has got a great deal to do with why you love anyone. I'm sorry that I haven't been up to much lately, and I know that if I was better at faking it, it wouldn't need to be a problem." "George," John said vehemently, taking her hands in his. "I don't ever want you to do that again, not ever, because I really don't deserve it. If for some reason you don't enjoy what I might do for you, then I want to know about it, not be made to feel that it's still as good as it used to be. You are worth far more than that to me, George, far, far more." "How am I supposed to believe you, if you keep on sleeping with people like Connie?" "Do you know how I felt when you walked in on us?" He asked her, bypassing her original question because he didn't know how to answer it. "When I saw the look on your face, I wanted to cut out the last hour of my life, so that I could approach the thought of Connie with a different frame of mind altogether. I could see just how much I'd hurt you, and it's been haunting me ever since. All you could talk about was either my career or Jo, not once mentioning a word of how you felt about it. That's how I knew how much I'd hurt you, because you couldn't bring yourself to say it, for fear of losing the iron grip on your feelings that you think you have tonight. I'll tell you what makes me love you, the way you've looked after Jo this week, taking over her role whenever necessary, so that no undue attention is drawn to how difficult she has been finding everything. I love you because when you set your mind on winning a case, or an argument for that matter, you give it everything you've got, leaving absolutely nothing in reserve. You take the kind of risks in court that I often do, and you don't allow any opponent to pull you down. You make me incredibly proud of you virtually every time I see you in court. That doesn't mean that you don't regularly wind me up, because you know that you do, but in doing that, you're showing me just how much spirit is hiding away inside you, ready to come out and fight with me or anyone else to the death." George was incredibly confused. She was supposed to be angry with him, furious to the point of internal combustion, and yet she knew that he meant every single word he'd just said to her. Mimi chose this moment to wriggle out from between them, and stand whining by the front door. Seeing that George needed a little while to regroup, John got up and attached Mimi's lead to her collar. "I'll just take her out," He said to George, handing her the handkerchief from his trouser pocket. "Are you staying?" "Yes, if that's all right," George replied a little shakily. "I'd like you to stay," He assured her gently, briefly resting a hand on her bony shoulder, and thinking that he had a lifetime's worth of hurt to make up for when he returned.
As George took a quick shower and cleaned her teeth, she wondered if she was doing the right thing in staying. After what John had said to her, George wasn't certain that she would be able to make love to him, if that was what he wanted. She didn't seem able to relax with him at the moment, and she knew this was because she was terrified of him coming across her lump, which would only lead to his demanding explanations that she wasn't yet equipped to provide. She felt exhausted as she finally slid under John's duvet, both physically and emotionally. Hardly surprising, she mused to herself, as she hadn't got around to eating any time today. Still, what was new?
As John walked around the block with Mimi, the street lamps making the frosted grass on the verges glisten in their shafts of light, he knew that he shouldn't have said half of what he had to George. He knew she'd wanted to know why he'd slept with Connie, but did he really have to give her chapter and verse on the subject? He also knew that most of George's disgust at what he said, would probably be turned inwards, to focus on herself for as she'd put it, "Not being especially forthcoming recently." John didn't know the reason behind George's lack of sexual interest, though he suspected that it might have something to do with whatever it was she wasn't telling him. He could usually read George like a book, and this time was no different. Something, of whose origin he couldn't begin to guess, was worrying her to the point of ensuring her a lack of sleep and a lack of interest in either sex or food. He wished she would talk to him, tell him about the inward terror that was haunting her every waking moment. But then what did he expect, if he kept on doing the kind of thing he'd done on Tuesday. Perhaps it was now up to him to put that wrong right, and to get back the George he knew and loved.
George lay and listened as he returned to the flat, and as he moved about preparing for bed. She didn't want to lose all these familiar things, she realised, which made doing something about her lump all the more urgent. She lay and watched as Mimi padded softly to her basket under the window, and curled up contentedly in its depths. But when she felt John's weight on the other side of the bed, she still lay turned away from him. John cuddled himself up behind her, laying an arm over her waist, gently entangling his fingers with hers. "I'm sorry," He said, dropping a light kiss on her shoulder. "What for?" George asked him quietly, needing to hear the thoughts behind his apology. "For hurting you," He told her simply. "I shouldn't have slept with Connie, and I'm sorry that you saw us together." "Are you telling me what you actually feel," George asked him knowingly. "Or are you telling me what you think I want to hear?" "Every time I look at that sofa," John told her regretfully. "I feel..." He stopped, not entirely sure how to phrase his level of disgust. "...Cheap?" George supplied for him. "Yes, I suppose so," He agreed tentatively. "You remember that time we ended up screwing behind a hawthorn hedge, during a rehearsal for 'The Creation'?" "As if I'll ever forget it," John answered dryly. "Well, that's exactly how I felt after doing that. So, if you feel even slightly cheap about sleeping with Connie, it's been a very long time in coming." "George, I don't know how to put this right," John said sombrely. "And I'm not entirely sure that you can," George replied with just as much pain behind her tone. "If I hadn't seen you together but had still found out about it, I could be angry, hurt, and resigned as usual when you do this. But seeing you, lying there with her, you both looked incredible." These last few words were said with that rising tightness in the throat that always heralded tears. "Not even you and Jo have ever looked quite so beautiful," She went onto tell him. "And I was so envious of both of you. I used to look like that very occasionally, but not any more. Connie is ten years younger than me, and with more poise and self-assuredness than I am ever likely to have again." "George," He said in distress, hating it when she belittled what she must mean to him. "To me, you are as beautiful as on the day I met you. I intimately know every inch of your beautiful body, and I wouldn't ever want it any other way. George, you gave me the most precious thing in my life," He said, running his hand over the flat plains of her belly, where once Charlie had rested before she was born. "Something for which I can't ever love you enough. I wish with all my heart that I hadn't slept with Connie, because it appears to have hurt you immeasurably." This was too much for George, because she really couldn't maintain even this distance from him any longer. Turning over within his embrace, she clung to him, this rock of hers whom she knew she couldn't do without, entwining her legs with his and kissing him with all the fervour she could muster.
He was momentarily surprised, because he certainly hadn't expected her to want this type of closeness from him. But he kissed her back, pouring into it all the love and apology that he felt. "I'm sorry," George said between kisses. "I'm sorry that I haven't been what you might call available in the last few weeks." "Shh," John told her gently. "That doesn't matter, really it doesn't. I'm just worried about you, that's all. I just wish you'd talk to me." "I can't," She said despairingly. "Not yet, anyway." "Are you pregnant?" He asked her, his hand trailing over her hip to lie once again on her lower abdomen. "No," She said, taking his hand in hers. "Would you tell me even if you were?" John couldn't help asking. "No, probably not," She was forced to admit. "But I'm not, I promise." In order to distract him from trying to guess any further about what she wasn't telling him, George led his hand familiarly to her right breast, encouraging him to fondle her as he had done so many times before. John capitulated to her undeniable request, because he wanted to love her, to take some of her hurt away, to try and rebuild what ought to be between them. "Are you sure this is what you want?" John asked her, taking her recent lack of interest into account. "I need it," She said almost desperately. "I need you." This was true, she realised, because with everything that may or may not happen once she brought the existence of her lump out into the open, this might well be the very last time she slept with John. As his hands moved over her body in that old, familiar pattern, she strove to make it as good for him as he was for her. But when he eventually began moving inside her, she clung to him, not ever wanting this to end. Why couldn't time be stopped, she thought fleetingly, so that she wouldn't ever have to detach herself from him, and leave his bed, as she knew she would have to tomorrow morning.