The Last Letter from Your Lover

and Larry had a row?’
    There were mauve shadows under Yvonne’s eyes, but her hair was immaculate still. She already seemed strangely distant, a relic from another life, Jennifer thought. ‘I’ve left him,’ she said.
    Yvonne’s large eyes travelled over her face. ‘Larry got drunk at ours the night before last. Very drunk. I assumed it was business, and went up to bed with the baby, leaving the men to it. When Francis came up I was half asleep, but I heard him say that Larry had told him you have a lover, and that you’d taken leave of your senses. I thought I must have dreamt it.’
    ‘Well,’ she said slowly, ‘part of that is true.’
    Yvonne’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘Oh, Lord, not Reggie.’
    Jennifer shook her head, raised a smile. ‘No.’ She sighed. ‘Yvonne, I’ve missed you awfully. I so wanted to talk to you . . .’ She told her friend the story, bypassing some of the details but allowing most of the truth to come out. It was Yvonne, after all. The simple words, echoing in the still room, seemed to belie the enormity of what she had gone through over the past weeks. Everything had changed; everything. She finished with a flourish: ‘I’ll find him again. I know I will. I just have to explain.’
    Yvonne had been listening intently, and Jennifer was struck by how much she had missed her acerbic, straight-talking presence.
    Finally Yvonne smiled tentatively. ‘I’m sure he’d forgive you,’ she said.
    ‘What?’
    ‘Larry. I’m sure he’d forgive you.’
    ‘Larry?’ Jennifer sat back.
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘But I don’t want to be forgiven.’
    ‘You can’t do this, Jenny.’
    ‘He has a mistress.’
    ‘Oh, you can get rid of her! She’s just his secretary, for goodness’ sake. Tell him you want to make a fresh start. Tell him that’s what he has to do too.’
    Jennifer almost stumbled over the words. ‘But I don’t want him, Yvonne. I don’t want to be married to him.’
    ‘You’d rather wait for some penniless playboy reporter who might not even come back?’
    ‘Yes. I would.’
    Yvonne reached into her handbag, lit a cigarette and blew a long plume of smoke into the centre of the room.
    ‘What about Esmé?’
    ‘What about Esmé?’
    ‘How is she going to cope, growing up with no father?’
    ‘She will have a father. She’ll see him all the time. In fact, she’s going to stay there this weekend. I wrote to him and he has written back, confirming it.’
    ‘You know the children of divorced parents get terribly teased at school. The Allsop girl is in an awful state.’
    ‘We’re not getting divorced. None of her schoolfriends need to know anything.’
    Yvonne was still pulling determinedly at her cigarette.
    Jennifer’s voice softened. ‘Please try to understand. There’s no reason why Laurence and I shouldn’t live apart. Society is changing. We don’t have to be trapped in something that . . . I’m sure Laurence will be far happier without me. And it doesn’t have to affect anything. Not really. You and I can stay the same. In fact, I was thinking perhaps we could get the children together this week. Perhaps take them to Madame Tussauds. I know Esmé’s desperate to see Dottie . . .’
    ‘Madame Tussauds?’
    ‘Or Kew Gardens. It’s just that the weather—’
    ‘Stop.’ Yvonne raised an elegant hand. ‘Just stop. I can’t listen to another word. My goodness. You really are the most extraordinarily selfish woman I’ve ever met.’
    She stubbed out her cigarette, stood up and reached for her coat. ‘What do you think life is, Jennifer? Some kind of fairytale? You think we don’t all get fed up with our husbands? Why should you behave like that and expect us just to carry on around you while you gad about as if – as if you weren’t even married? If you want to live in a state of moral degeneracy, that’s fine. But you have a child. A husband and a child. And you can’t expect the rest of us to condone your behaviour.’
    Jennifer’s mouth opened.
    Yvonne turned away, as if she couldn’t even look at her. ‘And I won’t be the only one who feels like this. I suggest you think very carefully about what you do next.’ She tucked her coat over her arm and left.
    Three hours later, Jennifer had made her decision.
    At midday Embakasi airport was a mêlée of activity. Having picked up her suitcase from the stuttering conveyor-belt, Jennifer fought her way to the lavatory, splashed cold water over her face and changed into a