Lost and Found
‘Paul, why are you angry?’
‘I’m not angry,’ he said. At times he found her directness disconcerting.
‘You’re lying,’ she said.
‘This is not the time…’
‘Please.’
‘All right, if you really want to know, I’m upset because you were flirting at the party tonight and humiliated me in front of Mr. Porter.’
‘I was not flirting,’ said Shirley vehemently. ‘I was just being friendly. And Mark said all the other wives were stuffy. I was the only one with spirit.’
Stephenson sighed. Mark Porter prided himself on his droll sense of humour and by using the word ‘spirit’ he’d undoubtedly meant to imply that Shirley was drunk. He’d been putting her down and she hadn’t realised. Black looks in the office tomorrow. Taylor had to be the favourite for promotion now; his wife had been a model of propriety.
‘Office politics, that’s all you think about,’ said Shirley, as if she could read his mind. ‘You used to love me but now you only care about that bloody job.’
Stephenson went red in the face, stung by her accusation. She was being unfair. His job paid for the designer clothes and foreign holidays she prized so highly. Shirley had no right to resent his career. If she really loved him she’d want him to do well and make an effort to help him. It wasn’t much to ask. He opened his mouth to reply, but then thought better of it. He really didn’t want to get into an argument tonight. He just wanted to get home and go to bed.
‘Look at the mist,’ said Shirley a few minutes later.
For a moment Stephenson didn’t know what she was talking about, but then he saw it off to their right, a thick wall of billowing fog that the wind was propelling towards them. He swore under his breath. This was something they didn’t need. He had lived in the area all his life and knew all about Dartmoor fogs and how dangerous they could be.
‘Should we head back to the car?’
He shook his head. ‘We’d never make it. It’ll be on us in minutes.’
‘Paul, I’m scared.’
Stephenson saw the frightened look in her eyes and bit back the sarcastic remark he’d been about to make. Already thin tendrils of fog were curling round their legs.
‘Look, all we have to do is keep walking in a straight line and sooner or later we’ll get out of it. Be ready to get off the road if you hear a car coming.’
Suddenly the fog was on them, swirling in off the moors and blocking the stars from view.