Lessons in Heartbreak (35 page)

This was her choice.

She walked further into the sea until the seawater came up around her torso, waves creeping up, wetting her clothes so that the water moved up over her breasts, reaching up towards her shoulders. It was cold. Walking in this way was different from running in when you wanted to swim or creeping in gently, screaming with the cold and laughing with people teasing you and urging you on. That’s what she used to do at the seaside as a child.

This was different, and yet she wasn’t afraid. The sensation of doing this was stopping her from thinking, and stopping thinking was what she wanted to do so much. Her mind was so full all the time: it never stopped.

At night it woke her up, tormenting her with the same questions and the same sense of hopelessness and she wanted it to stop. No tablets could do that. Nothing could, not unless she was so drugged that she couldn’t keep her eyes open, and what was the point of living like that? This was safer.

This would support her; the sea would take care of her. Suddenly, she couldn’t feel the sand any more. She was treading water and she’d have to stop that, wouldn’t she? Because you couldn’t drown if you were treading water. Or maybe you could and you just waited until you got tired,
like the whale. She wasn’t sure. It was so cold that she tried to stop and closed her eyes. The weight of her clothes and her shoes pulled her down and her head went under the surface.

Cold shocked her face. She could feel her hair rippling around her, like fronds of seaweed. What did she have to do next? She had a mission, a plan, didn’t she? Every thought was slow, as if she was in an alternate universe, where real time took much longer.

She would close her eyes and keep them tightly shut and just
be.
That’s all she wanted to do: just be. Not have to think, not have to move, not have to tread water. Just be and let the sea decide what was going to happen to her, because she was fed up of deciding.

‘It’s OK, I’ve got you,’ said a deep, frantic voice.

She was grabbed and the shock made Anneliese gasp, taking in a huge gulp of seawater. She coughed and began to choke and suddenly fear grabbed her. She was in the sea, up to her neck in the sea, Jesus. Then she was being grabbed forcibly by somebody very strong. She was coughing so much and felt weak, but they were hauling her out of the water on to the beach where cold, icy cold claimed her.

She knew she shouldn’t be making such an effort for a lunch with her ex-lover, but Izzie couldn’t help herself.

When Joe had phoned and asked her to lunch, for one final goodbye, she’d agreed and had shocked herself by instantly wondering what she could wear so he would think how well she looked.

‘I hope you’re not going,’ Carla had said. She’d overheard the conversation because Izzie had taken the call at her desk. In SilverWebb, lack of space made privacy nothing more than an amusing concept.

‘Think of it as closure,’ Izzie replied.

Beautifully dressed closure, she decided, as she picked out a clinging wrap dress very like the one she’d been wearing the first day they’d met. It was over, she knew it was over, but that didn’t mean she didn’t want to look good, did it?

Besides, he’d chosen to meet her in the Amber Room restaurant, a sign if ever there was one, that their relationship was over. The Amber Room was in the financial district and would be full of people he knew. Only an idiot would bring someone he was having an affair with there for lunch, and Joe
Hansen was no idiot. This was final proof that Izzie and Joe were no more.

In the cab on the way there, she put on a coat of the richest red lipstick and layered gloss over it: war paint as modern armour. ‘I’m ready for you,’ it said.

And then she applied an extra-thick coat of mascara, because no woman could possibly cry when she was wearing mascara, otherwise she’d be left with spidery trails down her cheeks. Izzie Silver was not going to cry today. She mentally cloaked herself in self-possession as she walked into the restaurant, walking tall in her high shoes. The maître d’ brought her to Joe’s table. He was already waiting for her and, at first glance, she realised he must have caught some sun recently, because his skin was tanned and it stood out against the crisp icy white of his shirt. As usual, he was impeccably dressed, but there was that hint of a street fighter under the cashmere elegance.

‘Izzie,’ he said, formally, and got to his feet, placing a sedate New York kiss on each cheek, the way he’d greet a friend.

‘Joe, sorry I’m late,’ she said, even though she wasn’t sorry at all. She’d been late on purpose.

They exchanged idle chit-chat while a waiter hovered, took their drinks order and carefully laid Izzie’s napkin on her lap.

‘You look well,’ she said to Joe. ‘Have you been down to the Cape?’

‘Yes, I was down for a few days sailing,’ he said easily. ‘The weather was fantastic.’

Izzie thought how that would have hurt so much before, the reference to the family’s place in Cape Cod. It still twinged, except now it was different; now she wasn’t allowing herself to be hurt. He had a wife and children, and no matter what the state of his marriage, she was no longer a part of his life. He could go wherever he wanted: sail, get a tan, go to Acapulco
and dance on the beach if he wanted to. It was nothing to do with her.

There
, she could do it: she was over him.

‘It was a lovely weekend,’ she agreed. ‘I flew to Washington to see a friend of mine, lovely girl, works on the Hill as a journalist. We came over from Ireland at the same time.’

When Sorcha had phoned, Izzie had felt so guilty because it had been months since they’d met. The plans she’d made in Tamarin, to see Sorcha, had come to nothing because of the buzz of setting up SilverWebb. Luckily, Sorcha wasn’t the sort to sulk or hold grudges.

‘Good to hear from you finally, you mad thing, and that’s great news about the business. I had this idea there was a guy involved somewhere and that’s why I hadn’t seen hide nor hair of you for ages,’ Sorcha had said on the phone when Izzie rang to apologise and explain how busy she’d been with Silver-Webb.

‘Well,’ Izzie deliberated, ‘before I started the business, there was a guy…’

‘If you want to come down here and cry your eyes out with me, you’re welcome. You do realise that for every eighty-nine men in Washington, there are a hundred women. Those are terrible odds. I’ll be crying too.’

‘I won’t be crying,’ Izzie had said confidently. ‘I’m over him.’

Sorcha had said nothing, a very loud nothing.

‘Good for you, Izzie,’ she said finally. ‘I don’t believe you, but you sound like you mean it. Fake it till you make it, right?’

‘Washington, what a great city,’ said Joe, appreciatively. ‘I do business there sometimes.’

She imagined him having meetings in elegant Washington hotels, power-broking with other moguls, which was the rich man’s equivalent of paint-balling.

The maître d’ finally left after much table-tweaking.

‘You look beautiful,’ Joe said. His voice was different now.

Izzie glared at him.

‘So, again, tell me about this new business of yours,’ he said, as if forcing himself to lay off the compliments.

Izzie grinned, she knew not many people slapped Joe Hansen down.

‘Well,’ she said, ‘we’ve got a beautiful office space; there are three of us: Carla, whom you’ve met’ – she was sure he would never forget Carla and the day she’d snapped at him for breaking Izzie’s heart. ‘There’s Lola Monterey, whom you probably don’t know. She was a co-worker at Perfect-NY. And then there’s me. We had our first castings, which were brilliant, and we’re pitching for lots of work. New York Fashion Week gets underway on Friday and we’re involved in two shows, which is quite amazing for a plus-size agency. But the tide’s turning in terms of model sizes. It’s exciting times for us. Also, I was working on this big contract with the SupaGirl! cosmetics people before I left for Ireland, and we’ve got some meetings lined up later in the fall to talk about the possibility of casting SilverWebb models for some of their products. It would be a big step for them, but if it works, fabulous.’

‘Could it work?’ he asked.

‘Absolutely,’ she said. ‘A couple of companies are using normal women to advertise their cosmetics. Mainly skin-care lines rather than the more lucrative make-up, it’s true, but all it needs is somebody to take the plunge. A lot of people don’t agree with using ultra-thin models any more, but skinny, beautiful girls have been selling products for years and most companies don’t want to upset the status quo. We’re offering something different and, while people might agree with us intellectually, the bottom line comes first.’

‘I think that’s changing to an extent,’ Joe said thoughtfully, steepling his fingers. ‘There’s a lot more ethical business going
on, companies who have made enough money to be able to think ethically.’

‘Isn’t it sad, though, that the idea of using normal-sized models should be seen as some affirmative action or an ethical move?’ she said.

‘Just don’t forget about your bottom line,’ he warned. ‘If your business fails, you’re not doing anything for anybody.’ He switched subjects. ‘Have you found any fabulous new signings, the supermodels of the future?’ he asked.

Izzie smiled at him coolly. ‘How did I know you’d be interested in that?’ she said.
‘Cherchez la femme
, right? There’s got to be a chick in this for you to be interested.’

‘I didn’t mean it that way,’ Joe said. ‘I’m not in the market for another woman.’

The waiter came with their drinks and there was a moment of fussing with glasses and rearranging of cutlery.

‘I just meant it from a business point of view,’ Joe said when the waiter was gone again. ‘I didn’t know this was going to be such a tough lunch.’ His words were cool but his eyes were anything but.

Izzie could feel him almost breathing her in across the table.

‘It’s not supposed to be tough,’ she said. ‘It’s supposed to be about closure. I’m trying to say a civilised goodbye to you, to end it all,’ Izzie said. All the calmness seemed to have deserted her and the deep breathing she sometimes did when she was stressed suddenly appeared like a very stupid way to make yourself calm. He unnerved her in every way. She must have been mad to think she could sit with him for a civilised lunch when just being with him made her both mad and lonely at the same time. She wanted him like crazy and she must have been delusional to think she was over him. But even though she wasn’t, she knew she had to end it or else she’d be sucked back in. It was time to put a lid on this box.

‘You know what, Joe, I’m not blaming you for everything, don’t get me wrong. I walked in, theoretically, with my eyes open. Except, they weren’t open, I wasn’t thinking. I was so dumb, I didn’t really register about your still being married and what that meant,’ she said, more to herself than to him. ‘Perhaps that’s because I’ve never been married myself or had children; I didn’t understand what was going on with you. I thought,’ she sighed heavily at this proof of her stupidity, ‘that you’d sort everything out, the kids would be happy, you could start again. Am I dumb or what?’

He made as if to interrupt, but she kept going.

‘When I went home to Ireland, my aunt Anneliese told me that she and my uncle have split up because he cheated on her. He walked out on her for the other woman. When she told me that, I felt, I felt…oh,’ she held her fingers up to demonstrate, ‘about two inches high. No, make that one inch high. She was devastated and she had no idea what was going on until she found him and this other woman in their house. He walked, and that was thirty-seven years down the drain. It made me think of two things, Joe. One: that my uncle had the courage to deal with the mess he’d gotten into. And two: it made me think of the other person in this triangle – your wife. I never thought about her before. I assumed it was over between you, so she didn’t count. But it wasn’t over, was it? So she did count.’

‘It wasn’t that straightforward,’ Joe said slowly. ‘It was complicated, Izzie, you know that. It was over with me and Elizabeth, still is, but it was all about timing – when I could tell Elizabeth and the boys –’

‘Yeah, timing is everything, that’s for sure,’ said Izzie.

‘Seriously, it
is
about timing. I want to be with you, Izzie, I just need more time.’

Izzie wasn’t listening. ‘When I began to think about Elizabeth,’ she said, ‘I began to wonder why it is that the wife always picks on the girlfriend and never on the guy who
committed adultery. The person who betrayed them was their husband, but they don’t blame him most. It’s as if men are wild animals who can’t be tamed or trusted, and if they stray, you have to blame the woman who made them stray.’

She stopped to take a breath.

‘You betrayed both of us, Joe. You told me we had a chance, and you hadn’t gotten round to telling her that it was over. I never thought I’d date a guy who was a cheater. When a guy cheats on his wife to be with you, he can cheat on you to be with someone else.’

‘I wasn’t cheating on my wife,’ he said, in a low voice. ‘I told you, it’s over between us. Aren’t you listening?’

‘Aren’t
you?’
she snapped. ‘My problem is that you lied to me. You wanted both of us and I don’t care whether your relationship with Elizabeth was over or not, that doesn’t work. You can’t love two people. I don’t buy all that stuff about men being able to compartmentalise their love lives or that evolution has made them unsuited to monogamy. I don’t think you can share a man – and I had to share you every day. I don’t want to share the person I’ve fallen in love with.’

The speech felt like a clumsy elaboration of everything she’d been thinking about, but even if it hadn’t made total sense, she’d said it.

‘You don’t want to share me with my kids, then?’

‘This isn’t about your kids,’ she replied angrily. How dare he imply that because she didn’t have children, she didn’t understand the love a parent had for them. She’d never said she didn’t want children, damnit. She did. His, actually. She’d wanted his kids, but he’d never known that. ‘If you’re half the person I thought you were, you’d want to be there for them,’ she said quietly. ‘If I didn’t understand they’re a huge part of your life, then I’d be Ms Moron of the Year. That’s not the issue. You had a choice: you could have stayed home quietly, lived your separate lives and been there for your kids. You
didn’t want that – you wanted home, kids,
and
me, the whole enchilada. Not fair to any of us, I think.’

‘You think I’m a shit then?’ he said. He drank some of his cocktail. It was clear and had an olive in it. Izzie knew he wasn’t much of a drinker, but she could smell the alcoholic reek of a gin martini from where she was sitting.

‘Yes, I think you are a bit of a shit, actually. You weren’t thinking about anybody except yourself.’

‘I wasn’t lying when I told you we didn’t have a marriage,’ he said. ‘I never gave you any of that “my wife doesn’t understand me” crap, because I thought you were better than that.
I
was better than that. We were worth more than those stupid lines. But I don’t have a marriage,’ he said fiercely. ‘When I got married I thought it was for life and it turned out not to be like that. I’m not a saint, I’ve had a few affairs along the way, but they didn’t really mean anything, they were’ – he looked her straight between the eyes as he said this – ‘just sex.’

She recoiled in her seat.

‘I figure it’s no fun for you to hear me say that, but that’s what they were: just sex, for the comfort and the gratification men get from sex. But you, Izzie, you were different. When I met you, it was like a light had come back into my life, a light that had gone a long time ago. I thought that part of me was finished. I thought that loving and kindness, wanting to curl up beside someone in bed and not move and let the day dwindle past, I thought that was over. I figured it happened when you were twenty-five and then it was gone for ever. But with you, Izzie Silver, I got that back again. So that’s what you brought me. And I guess you’re right, I wasn’t strong enough to do anything about it. I didn’t have the courage to tell Elizabeth what we both know, that it’s been over for years. I couldn’t bear what that would do to our family because I knew it would be tough, dirty. Elizabeth wouldn’t want a divorce, not an easy one, that’s for sure. So I took what I could from you and I
didn’t give you what you wanted back. But now…’ he paused. ‘Now I want to give you everything.’

He’d been staring at her so intently that it was almost hard to look at him. It was like he was in court, making his impassioned statement to the jury, who were about to send him to the chair.