Full Stop by Joan Smith Page B

shouldn’t tell anyone, not even your best friend, which of course she isn’t — she came to supper a few times in Oxford and we went to a couple of exhibitions but we’re hardly
close.
Idon’t think I’d have been so upset,’ she added unguardedly as a waiter cleared their plates, ‘if it hadn’t been ...’
    Tracey waited. When she didn’t complete the sentence, he said encouragingly: ‘If it hadn’t been for what?’
    â€˜Well, say it
is a
friend of Toni’s, that means he knows her address.’
    â€˜You mean he knows where you’re staying? You’re worried he might come round to the flat?’
    Loretta lowered her voice. ‘Not necessarily to the flat.’
    â€˜I’m not with you, Loretta.’
    â€˜I just — oh God, you’re not going to believe this. This afternoon, at the Met, I had the feeling I was being — watched.’ She frowned, realising she had watered the story down. ‘Followed,’ she added quickly.
    â€˜Followed.’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜And you think it’s the same bloke?’
    â€˜Yes.
No.’
She was confused, remembering what she’d worked out about Michael a couple of moments ago. ‘How should
I
know?’
    Tracey said: ‘You’re not going to like this, Loretta –’
    â€˜But?’
    He grimaced. ‘You have got an unusually vivid imagination. OK, obviously the phone calls are real, I’m not denying that. But they’ve upset you, anyone can see that, and maybe you’re... not exactly
imagining
things. Jumping to the wrong conclusion. You’re an attractive woman –’
    â€˜Thanks.’
    â€˜â€” and it’s hardly surprising if men look at you. Maybe you don’t usually notice but this time, because you were feeling jumpy ... Remember the time we went to Rhodes and you accused the waiter at that taverna –’
    â€˜What’
That was
ten years
ago. More. And he definitely touched my breast.’ She sat back in her chair, her hands gripping the edge of the table. ‘I can’t believe you’re bringing it up
now.
’ The incident he was referring to had taken place on their last,disastrous holiday together, only a few weeks before they separated, and Loretta hadn’t given it a thought for years. ‘What’s wrong with you tonight?’ she asked crossly.
    To her surprise, Tracey ground his second cigarette out and raised his hand to his forehead. ‘I don’t know. Now you mention it I do feel a bit—I don’t know how to describe it. Maybe it’s the heat.’
    Loretta said unsympathetically: ‘It isn’t hot in here and if you’ve got a headache you shouldn’t be drinking red wine.’
    â€˜It’s not a headache — not exactly.’
    Loretta stared at him. ‘You’ve gone very pale. You’re not going to be sick?’
    â€˜Um — I hope not. Sorry, Loretta, I think I’d better go to the gents. You didn’t happen to notice it on the way in?’
    She shook her head. ‘Sorry. I’m sure we can find out.’ She peered over her shoulder in search of their waiter. When she turned back, Tracey had lowered his head and was mumbling something too low for her to catch.
    â€˜What’s the matter? Do you feel worse?’ She glanced in alarm at the empty wine bottle, thinking he couldn’t possibly be drunk on half a bottle of house red and a couple of whiskies at the bar while he was waiting for her. ‘John, can you hear me?’
    He lifted his head, stared at her without focusing for a few seconds and slumped in his chair. Loretta started to get up, caught sight of their waiter and signalled urgently for him to come over.
    â€˜Is your friend all right?’
    She bit back another sarcastic reply. ‘I think he’s ill but I don’t know what... Could you get me the bill?