Page 66 of Darling

There’s a narrowing of her eyes. “Why didn’t you come to me?”

She means when Adrian’s ultimatum landed on my desk.

“It was a very sensitive situation, Bridge. I didn’t want to put anyone else in a position where they’d have to lie or defend me. What I’d done was... unsavoury.”

“No, that fucking pastry was unsavoury,” she bites. “What exactly did you do, Christian? Have a consensual sexual relationship with an adult?”

I give her an imploring look. “You know it’s not as simple as that.”

“No? Then what was it?” Her voice is combative. Daring me to put words to it.

“It was his son.”

She makes an angry dismissive noise. “Perhaps. But you have no fucking idea the shit some of them get away with, some of the shit I’ve spent my entire career covering up for these wankers, who still sit in their offices to this day. Itwasconsensual, yes?”

“Of course it was.”

“And he was an adult when it began?”

“Of course it bloody was,” I say again, angrily.

“Then you should have come to me,” she hisses. But then, softer, she says, “Stella would have told you to come to me.”

“Well, Stella was a lot smarter than I was.”

“I won’t argue with that,” Bridget concurs. “Anyway, none of this is why I called you in here.”

“The worst is still to come? Christ.”

She almost smiles. “It really depends on how you look at it.”

I nod, gesturing for her to go on.

“They want you to come back.”

Two things happen at once: my heart gives a dissonant quaver against my chest cavity, and I laugh. “Excuse me?”

“Adrian fucked up. Which is unusual for him, I’ll grant, because there’s another no-confidence vote gathering momentum; they’re even talking about an early election. Less than a fucking year after we just scrapped a victory.”

“Jasmine needs time to bed in.”

“Time is a luxury she doesn’t have, Christian. She’s lost every fucking vote she’s put through—a foreign secretary, yes, she’s getting the blame for you, the education minister, a budget speech that almost crashed the fucking economy, and almost the entire FCDO. In less than eleven months. WhileThe Sunare printing pictures of her in the hospitality box of Taylor Swift concerts like she has not a care in the fucking world. She’s disliked by the country and even more so by the cabinet. Theyneed to fix it and fast.” She’s looking at me as though I have all the answers.

“Adrian wanted her in No. 10.”

“Yes, and he’s paying for it now. It’s making him look as bad as her and that is something he will not stand for.”

“I suppose that’s why he’s been trying to call me? To beg me to come back?”

She tilts her head, looking at me like I’ve just said something very naïve. “Oh, Chris, he’s not going to beg you. You know that’s not his style.” She opens her laptop again, clicks a few keys, and then she’s twisting it around so I can see the screen.

There, in gorgeous high definition, is a photo of Asher and me outside the Marriott Bonvoy in Jersey City. I’m looking at him fondly. Too fondly. It feels less horrifying than it had the first time around, certainly, and though the papers would still have a bloody field day with it, it’s not as though I could fall any further than I have already.

“You and Adrian are still as thick as thieves, I see.”

“He doesn’t know that I have them.”

I glare at her. I suppose she could be telling the truth, just as easily as she could be lying. The trouble is, I don’t know. I don’t think like these people, and I’m glad about it, but not thinking like them has always made my life far more difficult than it needs to be.