Alice stands up, the tears welling again. More than anything in the world she’d like to be able to turn back the clock, and failing that, she’d like Emily to put her arms around her and tell her she forgives her.
Neither looks likely to happen.
‘Do you think,’ Alice pauses in the doorway and looks back at Emily, ‘do you think you’ll be able to forgive me? Not tonight I mean, but ever?’
‘I don’t know,’ Emily says. ‘Please just leave me alone now. Maybe we can talk again in the morning.’
24
The only person to sleep well in the house that night is Joe. Alice lies awake crying as quietly as she can, terrified she’s lost Emily for ever. Emily lies awake clenching her jaw with anger, unable to believe what happened tonight, and Harry lies on the sofa downstairs, thinking mostly about Alice.
He gets up from time to time, makes himself a cup of tea, pauses to give Snoop a cuddle, attempts to watch television at around three in the morning, but sleep manages to elude him for most of the night.
Harry can hardly believe what happened last night. Can hardly
dare
to believe it. He walks over to the bookshelf and picks up a picture of Alice, the Alice of old with glossy blonde hair and perfect make-up.
Harry smiles. She is so different now, and he knew, well before yesterday, that he had fallen for her, but kept hoping it would pass. He found himself thinking of Alice when he was supposed to have been thinking about Emily, and although he allowed himself to indulge he did, truly, think that it was a slight crush that would disappear as quickly as it had arrived.
Until last night.
Until they kissed. Until Harry knew what it was like to hold her, to smell her, to feel her hair wrapped around his fingers.
At 7.30 the next morning Harry hears someone coming down the stairs, and he sits up, hoping it’s Alice, hoping they’ll have a chance to talk about what happened, but it’s Joe.
‘Morning, Harry. What are you doing on the sofa?’
‘Oh. Um. Emily had a headache and I thought it was best to leave her.’
‘Did you manage to sleep at all?’
‘No. It wasn’t the most comfortable.’
‘Not for a man your size, no. I’m not surprised. Alice is coming down in a sec. She’ll make some coffee before I take you to the airport.’
‘Oh. Right. Great.’
When Alice does come down she can barely look at Harry. She mumbles good morning and smiles at him, but she doesn’t look into his eyes, and busies herself in the kitchen getting the breakfast things together.
Emily stays upstairs.
‘Is she coming down?’ Alice whispers to Harry when Joe is out of the way. Harry shrugs.
‘You mean you haven’t spoken to her?’
He shakes his head. ‘She won’t talk to me.’
‘But you’re flying home together. She’ll have to talk to you.’
‘You would think so, but we’ll have to see. What about you? Has she spoken to you?’
Alice shakes her head. ‘Not really. She basically said she’ll have to think about things.’
‘I’m really sorry,’ Harry says, sorry for causing Alice pain, sorry for hurting Emily, sorry for creating such a mess.
Alice sighs. ‘It’s not your fault. I’m sure it will all blow over. Eventually.’
Emily comes downstairs just as they have to leave. Alice gives her a hug but Emily stands still, refusing to put her arms around Alice, just bowing her head until Alice lets her go.
‘I’m sorry,’ Alice whispers, and Emily acknowledges it with a faint nod of her head.
‘You look terrible,’ Joe says to Emily, concerned. ‘Are you sure you’re feeling all right?’
‘I’ll be fine,’ Emily says, forcing a smile for Joe. Harry and Alice shake hands, Alice jumping as soon as her skin touches his, the force like an electric shock, and still she is unable to look at him.
They are barely up the driveway, Emily and Harry and Joe, before Alice has pulled a pad of writing-paper from a drawer and is writing Emily a long letter, trying to express on paper what she was so inadequate at saying last night.
She writes for a long time. She tells Emily how much she loves her, how thirty years of friendship is far more important than a thirty-second kiss, and how she doesn’t think she’ll be able to carry on without her forgiveness.
She seals and stamps the letter before she has a chance to change her mind, and by the time Joe returns with an empty car, the letter is already sitting in the mailbox, waiting to wing its way to Emily.
By March, Alice has written fourteen letters to Emily. At first apologetic, after a while she decided she had apologized enough, and now fills the pages with long, rambly tales about what she’s been doing and the people she’s been seeing. Emily would never admit it, and she is not yet ready to either forgive or forget, but she is starting to look forward to receiving these letters, and as each one arrives a little bit of the pain starts to seep away.
Alice has tried to phone, but Emily has taken to screening her calls, and refuses to answer if it’s long-distance, so that Alice has to leave an uncomfortable message on the machine. Emily never calls back.
Via the letters Emily knows almost everything about Alice’s life. Alice knows nothing about Emily’s. She doesn’t know that Emily and Harry shared a cab home from the airport only because it was cheaper, and after a perfunctory goodbye they have never seen each other again.
Alice doesn’t know that Harry tried to phone Emily to explain, to apologize, to say goodbye properly, but that Emily wouldn’t take his calls either, and eventually he stopped trying.
Emily sought solace in Colin, jumping into bed with him rather more quickly than Alice would have advised, and although the relationship doesn’t seem to offer much more than sex, at least, Emily figures, it is giving her something to think about other than the betrayal by her ex-boyfriend and ex-best friend.
Oh. And the sex is pretty fantastic too.
Harry, on the other hand, still has students lusting after him in his dog-training classes, but post-Emily has made a decision not to get involved with any students again. He still thinks about Alice, thinks about her smile, her laugh, but he knows there’s no point, and he tries not to think about her very much. She’s happily married, after all. Happily married, in America, and she told him it meant nothing.
What would be the point?
But Alice isn’t quite so happy right now. Joe has stopped playing tennis – now that the potential seduction of Kay is no longer an option – and consequently can’t see the point in coming down to Highfield at all.
The last time he was down – three weeks ago – it was to meet with, and engage, an architect with whom he intends to build the McMansion of his dreams. Joe excitedly showed Alice the plans – an eight-thousand-square-foot monolithic monstrosity complete with swimming-pool, tennis court, and basement cinema.
Ridiculous, Alice thought. What on earth was he thinking? She felt quite ill looking at the plans, and prayed that fate would somehow intervene to stop him from taking down these lovely trees and building such a horrendous house.
With Joe hardly ever there, Alice has busied herself with the house. She found a picture in the library from an old local newspaper – Rachel Danbury sitting on the terrace – and she is doing her best to copy the plants, to restore the terrace to what it was. She has copied the pergola that was once on the side of the house, a pergola that can just be seen in the picture, and is planting wisteria on one side and clematis on the other. The plants she knows Rachel Danbury would have wanted, and the harder she works the more she feels at peace.
Sometimes, when Alice is taking a break on the terrace, she feels almost as if the late writer is looking down on her and smiling, grateful that there is someone working on the house she had so clearly once loved.
‘It’s my pleasure,’ Alice has whispered, more than once, those moments when she feels she is watched. ‘The least I could do.’
She misses Joe, but understands how busy he is, although she thinks it’s a shame he’s given up on the tennis – he seemed to enjoy it and it was lovely having him down here on the weekends.
These last few weekends, weekends when Joe has professed to be working, he has been living his old bachelor lifestyle. After almost a year of abstinence, Joe can’t see the point in no longer indulging. The only thing that turns Alice on these days is that bloody house, and Joe’s fed up with his dowdy wife who doesn’t pay him any attention any more, nor make any effort for him.
Joe needs to feel attractive again. Needs a thrill and excitement that Alice could not possibly give him.
His first indiscretion occurs at Blue Fin. He’s having dinner with a friend when he notices a sexy blonde woman staring at him from across the room. He holds her gaze a few seconds too long, turns back to his friend to laugh at what he has just said, then immediately swivels his eyes back to the blonde. She’s still looking at him. And this time she smiles.
Her name is Alison and they go out for dinner two days later, and back to her apartment for a fabulous fuck an hour after that. Joe leaves with her number, and a huge grin on his face. So many women, so little time. He’ll never call her again, not when there are so many others from whom to choose.
His second indiscretion is a hot little Brazilian called Carla. It lasts two weeks, two weeks of blissful, all-night sex, until Joe realizes she wants more, and walks out of her life and on to the next.
His third indiscretion is slightly different. It’s three o’clock on a Friday afternoon and Joe is, for the first time in what feels like ages, getting ready to go down to the country for the weekend. He’s about to pack up his stuff when a Bloomberg comes through on his screen.
It’s from Josie Mitchell.
‘I’m in New York,’ he reads. ‘Left Godfreys, now at Deutsche. How about a coffee sometime? Josie.’
Immediately he starts to smile. Good God. Josie. Now there was a real woman. He hasn’t thought about Josie for months, but seeing her name on his screen brings all the memories flooding back, and Joe grins, remembering what she was like in bed.
He Bloombergs her back. ‘How about five today? Pick a Bagel at the World Financial Center. See you then.’
‘Okay. See you then.’
Joe perches on a seat at the window, sips a steaming hazelnut-flavoured coffee and looks out of the window to see if he can see her coming. It’s 5.10 and he hopes he hasn’t been stood up. After all, he is supposed to be on his way to Highfield right now.
And then the door opens and he sees her. Glossy, gleaming, and as gorgeous as he remembers her. A slow smile spreads upon his face as he stands to give her a kiss.
Josie turns her head so his lips barely graze her cheek. ‘Hello, Joe. Whaddayaknow.’
25
If you happened to be in Manhattan’s financial district at the end of a sunny March afternoon, and found yourself walking past a certain bagel shop at around 6 p.m., and glanced in through the large plate-glass window, you would stop for a second and smile, reassured to see two people so obviously meant for each other.
Joe and Josie certainly look like two people fallen very much in love. They have been cosied up in the corner for nearly an hour now, the first part of which was awkward and strained, but now they are on more familiar, flirtatious territory, and Joe is feeling an excitement he hasn’t felt in far too long.
Josie was intending to be cool. She intended to show Joe just what he was missing, just what he left behind when he walked out of her life without so much as a phone-call afterwards to see how she was.
She had wanted to laugh with a cool toss of her hair, to deflect his advances with just the right amount of graciousness, and perhaps a hint of scorn to make her feel better.
But she’s missed him. She didn’t even realize quite how much until she saw him again. She’s sitting here now, listening to him tell amusing stories about his weekend country wreck, and she’s gazing down at his hands, those fingers that are so familiar to her, that used to know every inch of her skin so well, and her own hand, resting only a few inches away from his, is almost hurting from the strain of not reaching over and touching him.
Damn. It wasn’t meant to be like this. She’s half-listening to him, smiling in all the right places, but her mind is back in her apartment in London, back in her bedroom, back in the days when she would watch him climb out of bed and pull her up to join him in the shower before he went home to his wife.
There’s a silence and Josie looks up. Joe has stopped talking, is waiting for her to respond, but she has no idea what he’s been talking about, what he has asked.
‘My wife’s in the country,’ he says finally. ‘I’m supposed to be on the seven o’clock train.’
Josie nods. She’s not sure what she’s meant to say, although her heart beats just a little faster at the word ‘supposed’.
Joe takes a deep breath. ‘My workload is rather heavy at the moment. I was thinking that perhaps I oughtn’t to be going to the country…’ He stares into Josie’s eyes. ‘I was thinking that perhaps I ought to stay in Manhattan this weekend.’
Josie just looks at him, her blank expression belying her racing mind.
There are two types of unfaithful married men. Those who are genuinely unhappy in their marriage, but are too lazy or too scared to leave. Perhaps there are children involved, perhaps they are just too cowardly, but either way it is easier for these men to stay married and have affairs, and one day they may or may not meet someone for whom they feel so strongly it becomes impossible for them to keep going home to someone else they do not love.
And then there is the second type, who are far more dangerous. These are the men who are very happily married. Men who love their wives, depend on them but who are addicted to having affairs. Men like Joe Chambers.
Josie thinks Joe falls into the former type, but mistresses always do, otherwise what would be the point? Here he is, nearly a year after she last saw him, and he’s offering to spend the weekend with her. Yes, he’s still with his wife, but surely not happy, and clearly the attraction between them is as strong as it has always been. And perhaps Josie is right. For years Joe was happy with Alice, but now their marriage seems to be on distinctly shaky ground and Joe has moved adeptly from the latter type of unfaithful man, to the former. As Josie had hoped.
‘Alone?’ Josie says eventually, raising an eyebrow.
Joe looks down at the table, at Josie’s hand resting so close to his own, and he slides his hand over to hers, gently stroking her thumb with his own. Josie closes her eyes for a second, savouring the feeling, wondering how she could have gone so long without him, and when she opens them Joe is smiling.
‘We could have dinner,’ he says. ‘I know a great Italian place near my apartment.’
‘How do you know I don’t already have plans?’
‘I don’t. I’m hoping.’
‘Just dinner?’ Josie knows it’s not just dinner, it’s never been just dinner, but his fingers are now entwined with hers and she doesn’t have the strength to resist.
‘Let me call my wife,’ Joe says, slowly, reluctantly removing his hand as he reaches for his mobile phone. He stands up and walks outside, presses the earpiece into his ear as he paces up and down just outside the bagel shop.
‘Hello?’ Alice is lost inside the Rachel Danbury novel when the phone rings, and her voice is distracted.
‘Hi, darling, it’s me.’
‘Are you at the station?’
‘No, darling. Look, I’ve got some bad news. I’m afraid that Brazilian client I was telling you about wants some more work done to the roadshow presentation this weekend, and wants me to take him out tomorrow night and show him some of the sights, so I’m going to have to stay in town.’
‘What Brazilian client?’
‘Darling,’ Joe affects a patronizing laugh, ‘I did tell you. My meeting today. You never remember anything.’
Alice doesn’t deny it, she’s finding it harder and harder to pretend to be interested in Joe’s work. Lately, stories about clients, and presentations, and emerging markets are tending to go in one ear and straight out the other. ‘Sorry,’ she shrugs. ‘I’m sure you did tell me. So you’re not coming down?’
‘Do you mind, darling? I know it’s been two weeks, but you’re coming up this week, aren’t you? We’ve got that charity benefit on Wednesday.’
‘Oh yes.’ Bugger. She’d forgotten.
‘Will you be okay?’
‘I’ll be fine,’ Alice says, irritated that he’s letting her down again, but relieved that he won’t be around on Saturday, whining that he’s bored, insisting that she comes shopping with him to Greenwich when she’d much rather be mooching round the house or doing local errands. ‘Couldn’t you come down on Sunday?’ Alice ventures. ‘Just for the day?’
‘Maybe,’ Joe says appeasingly. ‘I’ll have to see. What are your plans this weekend?’
‘Not much,’ Alice says distractedly, wanting to get back to her book. ‘I’m reading the Rachel Danbury novel and I can’t put it down, so I’ll probably get nothing done at all.’ She laughs.
‘You’re probably thrilled I’m not coming then,’ Joe says, relieved to hear her laugh, relieved she hasn’t given him a hard time. ‘You can read and garden as much as you want.’
‘That’s true. But do try for Sunday, Joe. You are my husband, I would like to see you from time to time.’
‘I know, darling. I will. Promise. Listen, gotta go, but I’ll call you tomorrow. Love you.’
Alice smiles. ‘I love you more.’
‘I know.’ Joe flips his phone shut and walks slowly back inside to where Josie is sitting, so temptingly, in the corner.
Alice sighs as she puts the phone down. As much as she loves it here, there are times when she feels lonely, and as much as Joe drives her mad when he’s here – his fish-out-of-water act began to grate many, many months ago – she nevertheless looks forward to his company on the weekends.
But at least this weekend she has her book, and it’s true, she hasn’t been able to put it down, so engrossed has she become in its pages. Curling up on the sofa, she picks up the book again and loses herself in a Highfield that’s long since disappeared, a Highfield that was a true country village, a community of writers and artists, back in 1947.
At 8.30 Alice realizes that not only is she starving, there’s also a chill in the air and her feet are like blocks of ice. She lets Snoop outside while she puts a pan of boiling water on the stove and pours in some pasta, throwing together a spinach salad while it boils.
Alice sits at the kitchen counter to eat, the book open in front of her as she continues to read, and after supper, when she’s washed up and the kitchen is sparkling, she and Snoop head upstairs.
Alice takes the book to bed and switches on the bedside lamp, reading the book in the soft apricot glow as Snoop lies outstretched on the duvet beside her.
At 11.45 she’s still reading, but the yawns are coming thick and fast and reluctantly Alice closes the book and reaches sleepily for the phone. Surely Joe is back by now, she’ll just phone to say goodnight. She holds the receiver to her ear and listens to the phone ringing until the machine picks up. She calls his mobile but that’s switched off too. With a sigh she flicks off the light and closes her eyes.
Within minutes she’s fast asleep.
At 11.45 Joe and Josie have just finished what Joe could only term a marathon session. He’s exhausted, exhilarated, and, despite his thirty-eight years, almost ready to do it all over again.
He lies on his side and grins at Josie, reaching across to brush away the hair that’s fallen into her eyes.
‘Wow,’ he says softly.
‘Wow,’ she smiles in return.
‘Would you be insulted if I told you I’d forgotten how fanfuckingtastic you are?’
Josie shrugs. ‘Would you be insulted if I told you I’d forgotten how infuckingcredible you are?’
Joe laughs. ‘Josie, I’ve missed you. I swear to God I’ve thought about you, but I just didn’t want to screw up your life any more.’
Josie sits up. ‘But you didn’t screw up my life. I knew the score.’
Joe sighs. ‘I know. But you were different somehow.’
Josie squints at him. ‘Different because I’m a ball-breaker?’
‘If that’s ball-breaking you can break my balls anytime.’
‘Ouch. Sounds painful.’
Joe laughs. ‘On second thoughts I think it might be. But seriously, Josie, I didn’t want to hurt you.’
‘I know,’ Josie says. It’s not necessary to ask how she was different. It’s enough to hear him tell her she was. And nor is it necessary to say he hurt her anyway. Not necessary to tell him how much she cared, how devastated she was when he just disappeared. He’s back now. That’s all that matters. ‘You didn’t. Hurt me, that is.’
‘Are you sure? Because I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. You know that.’
‘I do,’ Josie says, and even though she doesn’t, she wants to believe that’s true. Josie wants to ask him what happens now. Wants to know whether this is a one-night stand, or whether they’ll resume where they left off, but she doesn’t want to scare him off, not when she has him back, and she knows, she remembers, how Joe loves the thrill of the chase, and she knows she mustn’t show him how she really feels. ‘You’d better go,’ she says, leaning over to kiss him, enjoying the look of surprise on his face.
‘Go? You’re not serious. Why? I’m on my own this weekend, remember? I can stay.’
‘No you can’t,’ Josie says, even though she wants him to stay more than anything in the world, wants to wake up in the morning and roll over to see him sleeping beside her. ‘I have things to do and it’s better if you go.’
Joe shakes his head in disbelief, but climbs out of bed and starts to gather his things. Josie pulls on a robe and walks him to the door and slides her arms around his neck as she kisses him goodbye.
‘Oh God,’ Joe moans. ‘Please let me stay.’
‘No.’ Josie smiles to herself, knowing that however hard this may be, it’s the right strategy if she wants to keep him. ‘You have to go.’
‘What about tomorrow?’ Joe says hopefully, standing in the hallway. ‘Can I see you tomorrow?’
‘Call me,’ Josie says as she shuts the door. ‘Call me and we’ll see.’
Joe falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow. He wakes in the morning at eight o’clock and the very first thing he thinks about is Josie, or more specifically, sex with Josie. Jesus, it was good. He has to see her again. Today. Now. As soon as possible. He picks up the phone and calls her.
Josie, just in from the gym, stands in her kitchen cradling her coffee and looks at the caller ID that’s flashing on her phone. Joe. She stands there and lets the machine pick up.
‘Josie? It’s me. Joe. Just phoning to see how you are. Give me a call when you get in. Talk to you later. ’Bye.’
Half an hour later Joe calls again, but this time he doesn’t leave a message, just puts the phone down as the machine picks up.
By three o’clock in the afternoon Joe has tried Josie nine times. Josie is having to physically sit on her hands to prevent herself from answering the phone, but hard as it is she knows she’s doing the right thing.
At eight o’clock that evening Josie calls him back.
‘Hello?’
‘Joe? It’s Josie.’
‘Hi! How are you?’ His voice is casual, and Josie smiles. He has no idea she knows he’s been trying her all day.
‘Fine, thanks. How are you?’
‘I’m great. Busy.’
‘Oh yes? What have you done today?’
‘Working. Gym. Some errands.’ All with his mobile phone, from which he continued to try to reach Josie. ‘Listen, what are you up to now?’
‘Now?’ Josie had already worked out her speech. She would tell him she was off to a dinner party, therefore not only could she not see him, she would also be inferring she had an active social life, was in demand by other people.
‘Yes, now.’
‘I’m going to a dinner party,’ Josie says, as planned.
‘Oh. Couldn’t you get out of it? I’ve been thinking about you all day, I’m desperate to see you.’
‘Um.’ She knows she ought to say no, but the words are out of her mouth before she can stop them. ‘I suppose I could get out of it.’
‘Great!’ Joe cannot hide the enthusiasm in his voice. ‘How about going out? There’s a party going on downtown tonight. Why don’t I pick you up in an hour?’
‘Sounds good. I’ll see you in an hour.’
‘Wow!’ Joe does a slow wolf whistle as Josie steps out of the lift in a pink printed Diane von Furstenberg dress, wrapping sexily around her tiny waist, the skirt opening slightly every time she walks.
‘You like the dress?’
‘I love the dress. In fact, are you sure you want to go out?’
‘Oh, I’m sure,’ Josie smiles as Joe slips his arms around her waist and kisses her slowly.
‘Still sure?’ Joe smiles into her eyes.
‘Still sure,’ Josie smiles back. ‘Plenty of time for that later.’
The party is in a huge loft in TriBeCa, in a desperately trendy building that used to be an icehouse. The doorman wearily directs them up to the sixth floor where they can hear the noise as soon as the elevator door opens.