Chapter 25: The End of an Affair

January 10th, 2009. MilSys HQ, London.

"Have you got over the flu, or whatever the lurgy was which laid you low over the festive season?" Dougie Green asked as he entered my office.

He saw the bewilderment on my face. "My wife and I bumped into Suzannah at the New Year's Day concert at Royal Albert Hall. I asked where you were, and she said you had some virus and were confined to bed. She was with your friend Colonel Ledbetter, who had stepped in at the last moment to accompany her to the concert as she particularly wanted to see Nigel Kennedy."

"That's Harry for you," I said, trying to keep the bitterness and sarcasm from my voice, "always ready to lend a helping hand, or something. Yes, I'm fine now, thanks."

Dougie nodded. "Good, because the IED vehicle trial at Catterick Camp is back on. Actually, it was fortunate the trial was cancelled last year as the Aldermaston boffins discovered a few glitches in the software, which they have now fixed. We're due to travel to Catterick in a week's time."

I had asked my solicitors to deliver the notice of my divorce petition to Suzannah, and Harry Ledbetter, on Christmas Day as a surprise Christmas present for the two adulterous shitbags.

It appeared MilSys was still in the dark about the state of my marriage, but it wouldn't take long before the news leaked out, and then I would have to ask for a transfer to avoid bumping into Suzannah at meetings and such.

I had been back from the Seychelles for three days, and hadn't heard from either my solicitors or Gemma. I admit it was the latter I really wanted to hear from. Her office phone had rang out when I called the number, and I left messages asking her to call me. I missed her company, even her donkey bray of a laugh didn't seem quite so bad in retrospect, and I also missed the superb sex we had enjoyed. My hope was she and I could hook up, once she had sorted out Harry Ledbetter, and continue our sexual relationship. I imagined she would be going to Harry's place to tell him they were finished in the next few days, so I reluctantly decided not to visit her at her Bayswater Road house.

As I sat back in my office chair, rerunning in my mind some of the more raunchy exploits she and I had got up to on holiday, my mobile rang.

I yanked it out of my jacket and I heard Gemma's voice, as if I had conjured her up. "Gem, I was just this minute thinking of you. How..."

She shut me up with two terse sentences. "I need to talk to you. Where are you now?"

"I'm in the office. Is there something wrong?"

There was a slight pause. "What time will you be home tonight? "Her voice had the same abrupt tone as in her first two sentences.

"Err ... about six. What's the problem?"

"What's your apartment number in Canary Wharf? I'll be at there at six."

Of course Gemma would think I was back in connubial bliss with my wife in Canary Wharf.

"Err ... I'm still having problems getting a tenant for my flat in Iver, so Ill be staying there tonight. I will see..."

The line went dead. There was something definitely wrong. A horrifying thought hit me; could she be up the duff? But surely it was too early to tell if she was pregnant? It had been about three weeks since our first shag, and even if I had impregnated her then, which was highly unlikely given the poor performance, she wouldn't be showing anything yet. And what about her period? On the flight home from the Seychelles she had fitted a tampon after our Seven Mile High shag, so must have come on just after. Even a stupid man like me knows the menstrual cycle is around four weeks. So what could be her problem?

A few minutes past 6 pm, she rang the doorbell of the apartment in Bourne Mansions, and I opened the door. "Gem, you look wond..."

Her right hand connected with my left cheek with such force my teeth rattled.

"What the fuck... ?''

A split second later her left hand connected with similar force to my right cheek. I grabbed her wrists before more blows could be delivered.

"You lying bastard," she spat, trying to kick me on the shins, "you've made me look a bloody fool, and have lied in your teeth from the first."

"What are you on about?"

She struggled ineffectually in my grip, and gradually calmed down.

"I feel such a bloody idiot. I trusted you, but you're just as bad as Harry bastard Ledbetter." She started crying, and I wrapped my arms around her and drew her trembling body close to mine.

God, I had missed the feel of her, the fragrance of her. I buried my face in her hair, she had used a lemon scented shampoo, and the smell ignited a fierce desire in my groin as I recalled our lemon curd smearing sessions.

"Don't try soft soaping me, you mendacious sod." Although she was quieter she had enough vehemence in her voice to cause me concern.

"So what I have I done to make you so angry with me?" I asked, knowing full well. She had regained her composure, and I loosened my hold on her, reluctantly allowing her to move her body from mine.

"I called around to Harry's flat this morning. He had been leaving messages on my office answer phone for days, but I've been out of the office most of the time since getting back to work."

She gulped back a tear. "When I got there and accused him of having an affair with Mel Brookes he laughed in my face and threw a letter at me. The letter sent by your solicitors informing him he had been cited as co-respondent in a divorce petition brought by David Paul Desmond against his wife Suzannah, due to her adultery with Colonel Harry Ledbetter."

She glared at me. "Why didn't you tell me Harry had been bonking your wife? Why go through all the rigmarole of inventing a Melissa Brookes, a tenant for the Iver flat, and everything else you fabricated? Why couldn't you just tell me the truth?"

I hung my head. "I honestly don't know. I couldn't believe what had happened. I didn't want to believe what had happened. I'm so sorry, Gem; once started I just couldn't stop. I'm really fond of you, and I'd give anything to turn the clock back and start again with you ... with the full unvarnished truth."