The Duel

Foreword

There is not much sex in this story, but it is very much in the loving wives tradition. Actually, unlike many stories in this category, it's about a loving wife, although you may beg to disagree. If it's not for you, move on. My thanks are to the long-dead Chekhov, who wrote a great short story called The Duel.

One: Bad news day

Stan breathed out the dead air of the clinic and paused at the entrance to enjoy the sun on his face. He'd promised himself a coffee when he was done and crossed the hospital car park to the neglected shopping arcade where two boys on BMX bikes aimlessly circled the security bollards and raced ahead of him up the alleyway showing off their wheelies. He followed slowly, each step an effort of will. Some time later he was staring into the grimy window of a dry cleaner's. Time to get a grip.

It was bad news as expected and he was numb, his mind trapped in the labour of processing what had been said. He should have brought Suzie with him after all and he tried to remember why he hadn't; his wife would have remembered everything the consultant oncologist said, made proper notes and asked better questions. Now he looked at the boys jumping a broken paving stone and was overcome by emptiness and disgust. It seemed as if no time had passed since he too was an aimless schoolboy waiting for life to start. Now it was finished. Looking round this suburban waste ground he might as well already be ashes. There wasn't even a cafe.

It was bladder cancer, which had metastasised, with secondary tumours in his hip and chest. The plan was for urgent surgery on his bladder in three days time and radiation and chemotherapy for the rest. The oncologist hadn't tried to talk up his chances. He said they would take stock after the surgery.

"You mean I'll most probably die."

The young doctor nodded. "But you're not without hope. We'll do all we can to manage any pain and give you the best from what time you have left. You have to stay positive."

Stan got a grip and took out his phone. A call to Suzie's work went unanswered and he hung on, silently begging someone to pick up. Come on Suzie, pick up this time. I really need to speak to you. Just this once. The phone was eventually answered by an unknown secretary who said that Suzie was unavailable. He patiently explained that he was Suzie's husband, that this was an emergency and he needed to speak to her urgently. There was a long silence and when the woman came back she was brisk. Suzie was on leave that day; he would have to try elsewhere.

Stan was surprised and momentarily forgot his problems. Suzie was always at work. She never missed a day for illness or anything else. He dialled their home number on the off-chance and listened to it ring until the answerphone switched in. Then he called her mobile. She was never good at answering and he wasn't surprised when it went to her voicemail. Rather than reveal his despair to a machine, he sent a text: "Call me as soon as you see this. Need to speak."

By the time he had reached his car he had a reply: "What's the problem?" Weak as he was, it felt like a blow. Why hadn't she called him? Immediately he phoned, but once more the call went to voicemail. He was feeling very lonely.

Two: Missed calls

Suzie had no reason to feel guilty, but all the same she worried for most of the train journey to London. Why had she not told Stan about the trip? Clifford wasn't her lover; he was her friend and Stan would have found it perfectly reasonable if she'd told him she wanted to help a friend. Her guilt was irrational; she worked hard and had few hobbies; she deserved to enjoy her day out and it was nothing to do with Stan. She sipped the large coffee she'd bought at the station and flicked through a fashion magazine. The rush-hour was past and the carriage was almost empty. Despite her worry, she was having fun, enjoying her moment of leisure. Yes she had risked a little deceit over the years, but she had harmed no one and it was for the best.

She'd met Clifford three years before on a difficult day-release course on company law. They'd worked together on a project once a week for a month and got into the habit of sharing their difficulties with the course and problems at work. When the course was over they continued a fitful conversation, mostly by telephone at work to start with, mentoring one another over legal problems. Slowly this developed into a friendship. Clifford had an alert sense of humour and a rational way of dealing with life which was a pleasant counter to Stan's bull-charge and highly individual approach. Interpretation of contract law began to mix with stories about their lives. Suzie told Clifford about their difficulties finding somewhere to live. Stan always rowed with the landlord or the neighbours and they had to move. In return, Clifford contributed wry accounts of his error-prone love-life, which staggered from crisis to farce while his career blossomed. Suzie looked forward to his communications which, once they ceased to be exclusively about work, became emails sent late at night as a way of winding down. They developed an easygoing banter which they both enjoyed as a diversion from the immediate pressures of their lives.

From the start she knew her feelings for Clifford were unprofessional. He fascinated her because he was so different to the men she knew. Stan was frighteningly sharp and unpredictable; she had to stay on her toes to deal with his mercurial style. Clifford was accomplished, confident and smooth. He never lost his cool or lacked something to say and Suzie found their conversations went much further towards the truth than those with anyone else. It was she who played the agony aunt and asked about his personal life, gratified that he took her advice seriously. He dated wealthy, well connected women he met through work and his love affairs had a swift, predictable trajectory, starting with sparks and a whoosh and ending suddenly for no apparent reason in blackness. She told him it was because he had difficulty committing to relationships, that he couldn't trust others and was happy only when he was in control of a situation. Privately she suspected he liked the fun of the chase and got bored with women after he succeeded. But for a while he would be deeply in love, a man who expressed his feelings openly and with humour, which she liked.

She'd agonised about this long-distance relationship and decided it was alright as long as they never met. Aware of the risks, she could see no harm as long as she stuck to this rule. Stan had no reason to complain. Nobody would be hurt and everyone gained. She and Clifford were opposites. They were close and trusted one another to share their problems, but there was no way anything more than an affectionate, self-supportive friendship could develop.

Suzie was breaking her own rule; she was on her way to meet her confidential friend. But the circumstances were exceptional. Clifford, who had finally married, had emailed in desperation. He'd discovered his wife was having an affair and they had split. He was alone, his pleas for help desperate. Suzie knew she had to respond, even if it caused trouble. Clifford was her friend and it was right that she should put herself out for him.

She could have told Stan without going into the back story of five years' secret correspondence. He only needed to know that Clifford was a work friend. She'd considered it carefully in the way she analysed options at work when faced with a difficult decision. Her conclusion: why take a risk and complicate things with an unnecessary admission? It would be like Stan to leap on some trivial point and get the whole business out of perspective. And anyway, his cussed, gloomy introspection of recent weeks made her unwilling to share her hopes and fears with him.

Later, she wondered if it she was anxious, not because of the deceit, but from fear that meeting Clifford would spoil their friendship. She was hardly in the league of his female conquests and she might disappoint him; or he might irritate her and cause her to be sarcastic. She thought about it carefully and by the time the train reached the outskirts of London, she was happy she had made the right decision; it was time to meet and see whether they really shared a unique understanding.

Stan's text arrived as she got out of the train at Euston. She felt irritated. Stan never sent her texts: why now? She saw that she had also missed a call from him, but then he knew she didn't want personal calls during work time. She was irrationally cross with him because of course the text fed her guilt. What could be so urgent that they had to speak at once? Hence her reply: "What's the problem?" What she really meant was: "stop trying to ruin my special day".

Almost at once she received another text. This one she read with relief: "Bistro cafe, John Lewis. Can't wait to see you. Love Cliff."

She dropped a few coins into the hat of a beggar on the way down to the tube to Oxford Circus and forgot Stan's text; there's no mobile phone signal on the London underground, so there was no reply to her text.

Three: Streets of London

Suzie stopped at the entrance to the top-floor bistro and her spirits lifted when she spotted Clifford seated beneath the window. He was gazing out over the Oxford Street rooftops, but turned as she approached and his smile made her jump. They kissed cheeks, consciously correct in their greetings and Suzie thought: "What have I done? I never expected this." She knew him so well and yet he was almost a stranger. Moments later, they embraced like long-parted lovers, arms round one another, kisses falling all over the face and lips. It was a simple pleasure, an expression of their relief at being together. Suzie couldn't take her eyes from his face and Clifford smiled benignantly, intent on understanding what was happening and making the most of it.

It was lunchtime and they ate a snack meal – Stan would never have done that. She chose a fresh fruit tart with cream and Clifford had a bottle of beer with a pork pie and pickles. They laughed at one another's choices and after exchanging a few titbits of news, Clifford told his story. It was banal, but she listened in horror to his account of how he'd discovered his wife's affair. She was a marketing executive in a blue chip company and had become friendly with the head of the market research consultancy she employed. He'd been away on business and came home to find she'd moved out, leaving just a note.

Tears formed as he talked and he gripped his fork like a weapon. It was a long story and there was much Suzie wanted to say in reply. The intensity of the discussion left them exhausted and they agreed to get some air. The meal over, they walking round the men's and women's clothing sections in the department store, then took a taxi to Cleopatra's Needle and walked up, heads together in conversation, from the Thames through Embankment Gardens and up Whitehall past Downing Street to Trafalgar Square, where they went to the National Gallery to look at the new Titian. Suzie had to be home by dinnertime but they were so absorbed in one another that time was forgotten. They sat in the cafe at the Gallery and she enjoyed Clifford's ironic, measured way of speaking and his charming manner of taking up her comments and adding something, never dismissing her point of view. As a break from his personal disaster, he spoke of his work on a complex company take-over and she found this interesting too. They had so much to share.

They moved to a pub, where Suzie accepted a glass of wine and began to talk about Stan. It felt wrong to speak to another man about her relationship with her husband, but she soon got over this, making sure to do Stan credit and emphasise his good points – his generosity and courage, his enthusiasms and manic energy. But she also said how he had been withdrawn lately and was unwilling to talk. She thought he was a depressive and should see a doctor, but was too arrogant to seek help. After work, when she was tired, his sarcasm and short temper was more than she could take. And his language was so violent she felt, she said, as if she had been hit. Clifford was sympathetic and didn't criticise Stan, but supported her with his comments. "We're all entitled to basic respect and he has no right to take things out on you."

They were good for one another. As she talked to Clifford, the shady corners of her life filled with light. She'd not enjoyed herself so much for a long time. Clifford was happy and in return she had a companion who was happy to shop with her and who talked endlessly about work and love and things that interested them both. Clifford said, "It was a mistake not to meet; we've wasted too much time. We need one another."

She had to agree. Eventually she sorted out her thoughts. "But we can't meet again. I love Stan and being with you puts us in the wrong."

"At least stay to dinner. We have to talk about what's happened to us." She heard the desperation in Clifford's voice. "For the first time in a week my life has been worth living. I've been in such pain I don't know how I survived. I've been so lonely and thinking of you has kept me going."

She meant to be home before Stan and cook dinner so that he'd never know about her trip to London. It was much the most sensible plan; the late trains were infrequent and populated by drunks and to stay in London would involve another layer of deceit. All the same, Clifford was right; they deserved to have dinner together. Dissatisfied by this conclusion, she knew she was avoiding the main point. She wanted to stay, but she had no idea what, if anything, this meant.

She didn't mean to flirt, but felt safe and wanted Clifford to admire her. He was gentle, never making her uncomfortable or saying a word against Stan. She sat against him and touched his beautiful hands. Now and then he put his hand over hers and they smiled, delighted with one another. It seemed natural to touch and of course he had her complete attention. He was entranced. Neither was the predator; they equally wanted to discover where this extraordinary adventure would lead them.

Although Suzie felt justified in what she was doing, her guilt never vanished. The sensible way forward was to cool things and arrange another meeting when they had sorted out their feelings. Staying to dinner was reckless, yet she still wanted to do it and no longer knew what was right. With a heroic effort of will she extracted her hand from Clifford's clutch and excused herself, went to the Ladies and turned on her phone. When the screen lit up she remembered Stan's text asking to speak and was surprised that he'd not followed up her reply. Whatever he wanted couldn't have been urgent after all. She rang his mobile number, thinking out the words of her lie. She'd been called to an urgent meeting in London and it was finishing late. She didn't know when she'd be done. Nothing like this had ever happened, but it was plausible that her work would bring her to London and Stan had no means of checking. It was irrational, but she decided it would be alright to stay if she told Stan where she was.

He didn't answer his phone. Disappointed, she sent him a text. "Sorry not speak earlier. Urgent meeting. Stuck in London. Back late."

It was a poor second best to speaking, but gave her some relief to send off the lie. Before she could put her phone in her bag, another text arrived. Stan must have had his phone switched on and handy after all.

"What meeting is that? Your work said you were on leave."

She flushed and sat down, overcome by the speed with which her lie had had been found out. Why hadn't Stan picked up the phone to speak? What could he know? She tried to concentrate, but was distracted by thinking about her bad luck: one minor indiscretion and she was instantly discovered. Once more she called his number and once more it went unanswered. This gave her confidence. What could Stan expect if he played childish games with her? It was humiliating to be caught in a lie, but she was determined she would not be put in the wrong. She thought carefully before sending another text. "Not want to trouble you. Actually with aunt in Tunbridge Wells. She's unwell and asked for help. Don't worry. Back tomorrow."

Why had she said: "don't worry"? And why: "back tomorrow"? Troubled by her own behaviour and her lies, she knew she couldn't face Stan. In the moment of composing the text she'd decided to stay the night in London. She'd lost control and needed to get a grip before confronting her husband. Moments later, she knew this was wrong. The sensible thing was to stick to her plan and go home. She'd surprise Stan and tell him she'd managed to get the last train back from Tunbridge Wells. To stay would risk everything with Clifford, as well as Stan. Relieved to have made a decision, she put away her phone and hurried to rejoin Clifford.

Clifford grabbed her urgently when she returned, stroking his hand over her shoulder and neck before kissing her lips.

"You were gone so long I was worried you'd run away," he said.

She felt better at once and was reassured by Clifford's relief. But after they had cuddled a while, she pulled away, deciding she had to think for both of them. She knew she was in trouble, but again surprised herself.

"Cliff, I need a hotel tonight. Don't press me, but I'm spending the night in London. It means we can have dinner without worrying about the time. But after dinner I'll say goodnight. You understand? We must protect what we have."

He nodded and kissed her. "Thank you Suzie. You're a darling. I don't know how I've managed without you."

Clifford accepted her plan, but Suzie was horrified that even after deciding she must go home, she'd decided to stay. It was cowardice because she knew she couldn't face Stan while her feelings for Clifford were so fresh in her mind. In the morning she'd be stronger.

While Clifford rang hotels for her, she glanced at her phone, but there was no new text. Unable to relax, she rang Stan's mobile number again and their home number. No answer. Why was Stan being so irritating? They finished their drinks. Clifford had found a hotel and was thinking of places to eat. What the hell. Go for it, thought Suzie. Enjoy the meal and worry about the rest of my life later. She took Clifford's arm and snuggled against his cheek, comforted by his smell. She didn't know what was right any more and didn't care.

At some point over dinner, when Clifford was eating his tarte au citron and Suzie her chocolate panacotta, their talk slipped directly from developments in company law to themselves.

"Today has been like a miracle," said Clifford. "I never thought I could be so happy again."

"I want so much to be with you," said Suzie. "But you know I can't. It would put us both in a false position and that would ruin everything. We have to be realistic about when we can be together and not be greedy."

"You're right," replied Clifford earnestly. "The few chances we have to express our feelings will be very precious. Everything else doesn't matter – it's a lie. Staying apart is a self-inflicted wound."

This time, when they kissed, he put his palm across her breast, discretely, with their bodies close.

"No sex," she insisted. "The feeling we have for one another isn't about sex."

"Then what is it Suzie? I love you."

She felt the pressure of his hand over her clothing and his warm and powerful presence so close beside her. It seemed right to her but she was cautious of taking unnecessary risks. When he put his hand on her knee, she put her hand over his.

"Clifford, please. Don't spoil dinner. I've enjoyed it so much. You're adorable, I like you so much, but I'm married. I'm not free like you to express my feelings."