“Good evening sir.”
“Good evening Mike.” Hugh puffed out his cheeks and sighed as he sat down on the plush, high backed bar stool. “A glass of the house Shiraz please?”
Mike reached for the bottle. “Had a good day sir?”
“Very. But I’m glad it’s over, it’s been a long three weeks.”
“Has it really been three weeks?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Your wine sir. Enjoy.”
Hugh watched as Mike wandered away to serve an elegantly dressed woman at the other end of the brightly lit, all-glass cocktail bar. It had never ceased to amaze him how barmen remember so many people and so many drinks. Although, it also amazed him how many encryption code snippets and commands he could remember.
I guess—as he raised the glass to his nose and closed his eyes—it’s what we do.
He sighed as the delicate aroma of tobacco, vanilla and, now what was that—
“Do you get woodsmoke?” Hugh started, spilling some wine onto the bar. “Oh, I’m so terribly sorry.” The woman waved a hand at Mike. “Another glass for the gentleman.”
“Are you sure, it was only a drop? And I was miles away.”
“I insist. And one should be miles away when one is immersed in one’s wine, don’t you think?”
Hugh smiled and tilted his head. “Very much so.” He stood and extended a hand. “Hugh Maculvey.”
“Jennifer Ashgrove.” She indicated the bar stool. “May I?”
“Of course.”
Jennifer glanced up as Mike placed the red in front of Hugh on the glass topped bar. “Thank you.”
“Madam.”
She turned back to Hugh and sat down, cupping her own glass in both hands. Hugh had already noted the black dress that clung ever so well to a very slim body. She was about the same height as him; although he hadn’t noticed whether she was wearing heels, but would wager that she was. What now caught his attention was the effect of the overhead bar lighting; starbursts off the sequins covering her dress, and off the autumnal reds and golds in her hair. Her eyes were of a brilliant emerald, sharp and steady as she gazed confidently at him. She was a little older than him, he guessed, but didn’t look it.
“Have you tasted it yet?” She nodded at the glass Hugh had in his hand.
“Not yet, but…” She also raised hers. “Cheers.”
“Cheers.”
They watched each other sip, inhale a small amount of air through a slight gap in their teeth and roll the liquor around their mouths. They swallowed in unison, sighed and smiled at each other.
“Exquisite,” she said.
Hugh nodded. “Mmm. Very good.”
Jennifer’s eyes narrowed as she leant back in her chair, pursing her lips. “Interesting. Just ‘very good’?”
“Not sure about the finish.”
She took another sip and closed her eyes. “Mmm, yes, I see your point.”
“A little too quick?”
She nodded, eyes still closed. “Agreed. Doesn’t linger does it?”
“To me the sign of a good vintage.”
Jennifer opened her eyes. “You do like your wine, don’t you?”
Hugh laughed. “My friends call me a wine bore. But it is a passion of mine.”
She fixed those emerald eyes on Hugh and, leaning an elbow on the bar, she cupped her chin. She pouted. “Any other passions, Hugh Maculvey?”
To Hugh’s horror he found himself blushing. He smiled and stammered. “I’m afraid not.”
“What a shame.”
There was a lingering silence that Hugh desperately wanted to fill, but his mind had disappeared. She laughed, soft and gentle, like a warm breeze. “What brings you to Cheltenham?”
“I work for GCHQ, I’m—”
“Ooh”—Jennifer leant forwards, her eyes exaggeratingly roaming the room—”are you a spy?”
Hugh threw his head back. “Hah, no. Just a computer geek. Big, powerful computers, but just a geek. I think you’ll find that’s MI6.”
He explained about the three week course that had ended this afternoon, and that everyone had hurriedly left, and that he was flying back to Jersey very early tomorrow morning.
“How do you live in Jersey, if you work for GCHQ?”
“I can work on developing and coding computers anywhere, I just need a secure line.” He took a sip of wine. “Or, in our case, a couple of secure lines. My wife also works for GCHQ, that’s how we met.” He airily waved a hand. “Anyway, I’m being boring. What brings you here?” He placed his empty glass onto the bar. “Another glass of the house, or shall we try another?”
“Oh another I think.”
“The wine list please Mike.”
They leant confidingly close to peruse the list, Hugh picking up the soft scent of cedarwood and cloves. It was, together with her beautiful and elegant appearance, and on top of a couple of glasses on a empty stomach, a quite sensual combination. They chose the Wakefield ‘St Andrews’ Shiraz 2016, an excellent Clare Valley vintage.
Jennifer sat back. “You’re not being boring at all Hugh. I think you’re an interesting and intriguing man. A wine connoisseur computer geek, you don’t meet many of those. I am actually on my way up to my mothers in Lancashire. Breaking the journey here.”
“Has it been a long time since you saw her last?”
“Too long. I’m meeting my brother there and, unfortunately, we have some difficult decisions to make. She’s 84 and not coping well.” She tilted her head. “So we’re told by the neighbour.”
“Well, good luck. Not an easy time. Look, I…” Hugh paused, feeling timid and nervous. “I have a table booked for”—he glanced at the clock—”ah, five minutes ago. You probably have other plans, but would you care to join me?”
Jennifer beamed. “I would be delighted.”
Hugh followed her out of the bar, filled with a desire that he knew he shouldn’t.
The restaurant was reasonably busy for a business hotel on a Friday night. They were seated, thankfully, on the other side of the room from the piano. Hugh hated noise; background music, background TV, mindless chatter. He didn’t know that many people. He didn’t really socialise. He didn’t care. He loved his job, he loved his wife, he loved his kids and he was well respected; professionally at least. But, here he was…
As these thoughts wound their way through his mind he found himself staring at Jennifer as she studied the menu. Now here was a fascinating woman. Beautiful, elegant, stylish, unmarried perhaps, no ring at least. Hugh wondered what she did for a living. But even he knew not to ask that; he wasn’t that boring.
“Are you ready to order?” A waiter had silently appeared at Jennifer’s shoulder.
Caught staring, Hugh blushed. Jennifer had glanced up and their eyes had locked from about two feet away. For a moment neither of them spoke. Then she slowly smiled, and Hugh felt the tension slip away, like he was with an old friend.
“Excuse me, are you ready to order? Do you need more time to decide?”
Jennifer stared up at Hugh and smiled. “No, I don’t think I do.”
The food was good. Not fantastic, but good. The talk, however, was five star Michelin. Hugh was in heaven. They had worked their way through wine (Australian vs French), books (Stephen King vs Tolstoy), ballet (Manon vs Swan Lake), and were now supping a delightful port back in the bar.
He glanced at his watch, 11.15, and sighed.
“I have an early flight tomorrow,” he said, finishing his glass and placing it on the table. As he did so Jennifer leant forwards and took his hand. Hugh was transfixed as her emerald eyes moved closer and closer. The rest of the bar faded away. His heart was rising into his throat. A couple of inches from him she stopped. His heart sank. For one crazy moment he thought that she was going to kiss him.
“I’ve had the most wonderful of evenings.” She purred the words and they smothered Hugh in a cocoon of desire.
“As have I,” he said, their faces still inches away. “You are the most delightful of companions. I wish we could continue, but I—”
“Do you really Hugh Maculvey? Do you really want to continue this evening?” Hugh swallowed. He found himself nodding. “Then, come with me.”
He followed Jennifer across the bar and out into the foyer. They waited in silence for the lift. A battle was raging in Hugh’s head. He glanced sideways. She was wearing heels after all; tall stilettoes that toned her calves through her black tights. Or were they stockings? Hugh swallowed in a dry throat. In his head, carnage ensued; lust versus love-desire versus duty. As the doors closed Jennifer turned, wrapped her arms around Hugh’s shoulders and gently kissed him. He closed his eyes—love and duty were being routed.
They made their way, hand in hand, down the corridor and stopped at the Diamond Suite, Hugh’s mind a maelstrom as love and duty attempted a desperate rear-guard action. She swiped the key against the lock and pushed open the door.
“Jennifer,” he whispered. She turned. “I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry but I can’t do this.”
She slowly nodded. “Are you sure? One night. No one would ever know.”
Hugh opened and closed his mouth. He glanced into the room at the queen size bed. “I will know. I’m sorry.”
“OK.” She frowned. “Your wife is a very lucky woman, Hugh Maculvey.” She reached into her small black handbag and pulled out what looked to Hugh like a pager. Pressing a button on the side she waited a moment. There was a faint crackle. “Sacha? On skazal nyet.”
Hugh stepped back. “What—?”
“Let us hope, Hugh Maculvey, that your wife is not as honourable as you.” She placed the pager back in her bag. “She is in London tonight, I believe. At the opera.” She eyed Hugh up and down. “It is a shame. You are an attractive man, we could have had a memorable night.”
And with that she turned, entered her room and closed the door. Hugh fumbled his phone out of his pocket. With shaking hands he tapped Susan’s number.
It rang and rang and rang.
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