(2013) Collateral Damage Read Online Free Page A

felt some sort of protest was necessary. After
all, it was a bit thick. For a start he'd have to change the sheets.
    'That's what you promised, darling,' said Emma, turning a long,
bare back to him as she searched among the glasses on the bedside table for one
with enough Scotch left in it to extinguish her cigarette. As she did so Toby noticed
a small brown mole just below her left shoulder-blade. This tiny imperfection excited
him. He wanted to smother it with kisses. He leapt on her.
    'Gerroff,' she growled. 'My knight approaches. Even now his chariot
passes the Watford Gap service station.'
    'Do you mean that '69 Cortina he took you out of my life in?'
    'Don't be a snob. Only parasites can drive Lamborghinis. Useful
members of society get Cortinas.'
    'Useful members of society are very boring,' said Toby. But he
did not have the energy to overcome resistance. A delightful languor was beginning
to creep over him which was spoilt only by the knowledge that it was not going to
be allowed to develop as it should into a blissfully spent sleep. It had been a
very tiring afternoon. It had started not long after midday with champagne before
lunch, gathered pace with a couple of good bottles of claret over the meal, hovered
provocatively for a while over the coffee and brandy then, for a man who despised
exercise, become distinctly energetic before they surfaced gasping, like swimmers,
for glasses of malt whisky and cigarettes in bed. He allowed her to leave his bed
and watched her slightly unsteady progress towards the bathroom door. 'Lovely, dirty
bitch,' he thought fondly.
    Under the shower Emma was getting cross with Toby. Great oaf,
she thought. Perhaps Stephen was a bit boring sometimes, but it wasn't his bloody
place to say so. Yet, as she mechanically worked a Corsican sponge about her body,
she asked herself: he is boring, isn't he? And the answer came back loud and dear:
yes, oh yes, boring and a bit thick at times for all that calm, rational, unhurried
approach of his. And there were other things that irritated. Sometimes he was more
of a hypochondriac than she was: always trying to cut down on booze and fags and
worrying about his diet just because his quack had once mentioned the word 'coronary'.
Then there was the matter of, oh Christ, call it what you will: class, background.
Sometimes those flat Midlands 'a's of his which had sounded so attractive, so D.
H. Lawrence when they first met, made her squirm. There was also no denying that
they had a different attitude towards many things. Money for one. For Chrissake he was depositing fifty pounds a month into a building society somewhere
and she knew that soon she would be expected to walk without resistance into a three-bedroomed
semi and there breed kids until it was time to become the headmaster's wife.
    Then there were his dreary friends. Roger Day, the English master,
for instance. A real drongo with a beard who thought he was Hemingway. Once, for
the hell of it, she had flirted with him. Naturally, he'd run a mile. Ugh!
    Of course, she knew she was to blame. She'd wanted to get married.
She'd played Stephen along like some prize salmon and brought him panting to the
bank. Now the kindest thing to do would be to get out before things went too far.
Perhaps this weekend would be the best time, in London on her own territory. He
would be terribly hurt and she wasn't looking forward to that because he was, she
supposed, a good man, which was why ultimately she found him so fucking dull. Yes,
this weekend was the best time, but she would have to be careful how she did it.
Should she tell him or leave a note and disappear? Something like she didn't think
it was working out and she was going to stay with her parents for a while. Nothing at all about Toby and the rest. There was a television
research job coming up she thought she could get which involved a trip to Buenos
Aires. Urban guerrillas and all that. It might be the answer.
She didn't want to be around after she