The Christmas Party (4 page)

‘That’s nice though.’

She’d loved children then. Adored them. It was their open curiosity and capacity for learning that filled her with enthusiasm. Now she didn’t see any children, other than to pass them in the street, from one end of the year to the next. They didn’t even broach the subject of having their own family any more. With Tyler it had always been next year when he earned more, next year when he’d reached this or that level, next year when it was quieter at work, next year when they’d stopped travelling. And, of course, next year never came. Then suddenly she’d turned forty and she felt that ‘next year’ had passed her by. Tyler earned more, reached the next level, got busier and busier and travelled endlessly. But many people in this situation still managed to have children. For Tyler it felt as if Fossil Oil was all the family he needed, but perhaps it wasn’t enough for her.

‘If it hadn’t been for Fossil, I could have done a lot of things. I could have forged myself a successful career. I might have made headteacher. I could have found some friends, had a normal life. Whatever that might be.’

‘Hindsight is a wonderful gift, Kirsten. We’re still young. Relatively. It’s not too late to do those things, if that’s what you want.’

‘I wanted to be with you.’ It was what wives did, wasn’t it? Sacrificed themselves on the altar of their husband’s career. How very foolish it sounded now. Here she was, a decade later, relying on Tyler for her income, for her life. ‘I know no one outside of the beauty salon and the gym. I thought about throwing a party at home this Christmas and then realised that, beyond the employees of Fossil Oil, I don’t actually know anyone who I could invite.’

Tyler went to speak.

She held up a hand.

‘Don’t say we can invite Lance and Melissa. That’s exactly what I mean.’

This was the only time they’d actually spent two consecutive Christmases in the same country. The last ten years had been marked by fleeting acquaintances and empty hours. The only people she had long-term relationships with were the women in the Relocations Department at Fossil Oil who engineered her tediously regular home moves.

‘We’ve spent so little time in one place and have always lived in rented homes that it makes me feel like some sort of nomad.’

‘Look at this place,’ Tyler said, holding out his arms. ‘It’s stunning. People would cut off both their arms to live somewhere like this.’

‘We’ve had some beautiful homes, of course. I can’t deny that. It’s always someone else’s choice of furniture though, never my own.’

This place
was
amazing: a four-bedroom Georgian townhouse in Hampstead. Handy for both the London office and the M1. It was all chandeliers and original windows in a quiet, leafy street, slap bang in the middle of a conservation area. No one could argue with its pedigree.

‘I’ve reached a stage in my life where having the biggest or shiniest home on the road just isn’t enough. Nothing in this house is ours. I don’t clean it, don’t decorate it, don’t plant a single flower in the garden. When we move – as we will – there’ll be nothing in it to show that we’ve ever been here. All I do is stare at the four walls.’

‘We can move somewhere else,’ Tyler said, frowning. ‘If that’s what you want.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘That’s not what I want at all. You’re missing my point entirely.’

‘But this is a great place, and you didn’t want to live near the office.’

Fossil Oil’s latest venture had been to build a shiny new head office in Milton Keynes and the company had now moved, lock, stock and barrel, out of its base in central London, which was deemed too expensive.

Another reason she’d taken to travelling with Tyler was that she hadn’t been able to trust him unless he was right under her nose. In her holidays from university she’d worked as an office temp and had endured a number of bosses who were just like Tyler, as libidinous as they were ambitious. Not that her being hot on his heels had ever actually stopped him from playing away. It was just that she had endless hours in which to be suspicious of him. She really should have kept up a job. Or had children. Or both. Perhaps she
should
have worked hard and climbed the greasy pole to the top of her own profession. Or maybe she would have been more content to spend her time at home if it had been somewhere filled with kids of their own. Then again, no doubt Tyler had the dominant genes and all their offspring would have ended up just like him. She’d have had no chance then. One Tyler Benson was more than enough.

‘I’ve promised you I’ll take a few days off over the holidays,’ Tyler soothed.

After she’d nagged him incessantly. He never usually took time off and always dashed back to the comfort of Fossil Oil as soon as Boxing Day was over. He’d probably go in even earlier if the offices actually opened. But, with the few days at home that he’d promised her, perhaps he was going to try his best this year too.

‘We’ll talk about these things then.’

‘Promise?’

‘Cross my heart and hope to die.’

He crossed his bare chest and she lifted her hand to caress the spot.

‘I’m going to do my very best, using fair means or foul, to make sure you don’t sneak off to the study for a few hours.’

‘I’d rather you use fair means.’ Her husband traced his thumb over her cheek. ‘This Christmas can be fun, Kirsten. If you want it to be.’

The Christmas tree was up, and that wasn’t always a given. It depended on her mood or whether their belongings were still in transit from somewhere or another. For a change, she’d bitten the bullet and brought in Christmas planners to do it for her. It was a small and viciously expensive company who had been recommended by the chairman’s wife, Melissa Harvey. They’d gone to town on the place and, she had to say, it looked marvellous. Far better than when Kirsten ever did it herself. Even Tyler had commented on the decorations, and Tyler very rarely noticed anything. Though he’d certainly notice the cost when the bill came in.

After much consultation and the presentation of mood boards, the planners had decorated the house in a rather traditional theme in gold and silver. The real tree that they’d put in the living room was absolutely breathtaking when the lights were on. It could be a cold room and this brought a much-needed degree of warmth to it. The scent from the pine needles was heavenly. On a few evenings she’d even come to sit in here, rather than watch the television over the breakfast bar in the kitchen where she often spent her time. Kirsten decided that she’d definitely use them again next year. If, of course, they
were
still in England. And there was the rub. She simply never knew.

‘I want to make Christmas a happy time for us.’ She wanted to be a person who looked forward to it, embraced it, as she once had many years ago. There’d been too many filled with sadness, emptiness, dwelling on things that might have been rather than appreciating what she had. This year, she’d thrown herself into Christmas shopping and, whereas she normally hated the crowds, she’d quite enjoyed the whirlwind. Both Kensingston High Street and Regent Street looked fabulous in their festive garb, and that had helped. As a result, there was a selection of carefully chosen and beautifully gift-wrapped presents for Tyler under the tree.

‘Then let’s start tonight.’

She felt herself brighten. ‘Do you think we could? At the Christmas party? They’re always so dull.’

‘We can liven it up. A few drinks, a bit of dancing. Could be just what we need.’ He pulled her to her feet and held her tightly, swaying in time to non-existent music. ‘It’s the most wonderful time of the year,’ he sang tunelessly as they danced.

She laughed. Kirsten didn’t think Tyler really enjoyed Christmas, any more than she did. It was something to get through rather than to be enjoyed.

‘I’ve had your suit cleaned,’ she told him. ‘It’s hanging in the dressing room.’

‘That’s why you’re my favourite wife,’ he teased. Putting his hands gently on her bare shoulders, he kissed her neck. ‘Let’s have fun tonight.’

It seemed like a long time since they’d had fun together. Maybe Tyler was right: she should just let her hundred-and-fifty-pound-plus-tip hair down tonight.

‘Let’s,’ she said. Her hand covered his. ‘If we both try, it could be like old times.’

‘Yes. It will be. Definitely.’ Another kiss and he moved away from her.

‘Just promise me you won’t abandon me the minute you get there and talk about work all night.’

‘Of course I won’t.’ But Tyler was already searching in the drawer for his cufflinks. He found them with a cry of ‘Ah-ha!’ and disappeared in search of his dinner suit.

Kirsten sat down again and put on her necklace. A thin gold strand with a single one-carat diamond hanging from it. Christmas present from two years ago? Quite possibly. Idly, she wondered what Tyler might have bought her this year. The value of his presents always went up in direct proportion to the amount of bad behaviour that he had to apologise for. Most years it meant something sparkly with diamonds. At the very least, this last twelve months should secure her an extravagant bracelet under the tree.

Tyler came out of the dressing room, in his shirt now and fiddling with his cufflinks. ‘Can you fasten these, darling?’

She didn’t remember buying him these ones, but had never had the nerve to ask where they’d come from. Some questions you really didn’t want answered. He proffered his wrists and she fastened them for him.

He slipped on his jacket and tugged the cuffs into place. ‘That’s me ready.’

‘You look very handsome,’ she told him truthfully.

‘We’d better get a move on.’

Throughout their marriage, Tyler had very much lived his own life. Half the time, she never knew where he was. There seemed to have been a little less gadding about since he’d been at the office in Milton Keynes, but she wondered how long it would last. Not long, if she was reading the signs right – and she was a past master at that.

‘Louise offered to book us a hotel overnight,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘I thought you’d want to come home, but I left it open. I know you rarely drink at these things, anyway.’

That was true enough. She felt ridiculously superior when everyone else was falling about paralytic, saying the most stupid things, and she was the only one stone-cold sober. Perhaps that was the flaw in her plan. A couple of well-aimed glasses of champagne could cheer her up considerably.

‘If we’re going to have fun, party-party and all that, then you might fancy a glass or two. Lance has laid on a free bar for the staff. Madness. That will ensure everyone’s pissed out of their head within an hour.’

‘Including Lance?’

Tyler shrugged. ‘As always.’

‘I’ll see how it goes,’ Kirsten said.

‘Hotel or cab home, either suits me. Put a few things in a bag. You don’t have to drive. Louise can fix something up if you change your mind.’

Tyler talked about his new secretary too often. He dropped her name into the conversation too casually and at every opportunity. That was always a warning sign. The last secretary had been Debbie and he’d done the very same with her. Debbie this, Debbie that and, quite obviously, Debbie the other.

When he spoke of Louise, she imagined her young and beautiful. Louise wouldn’t have lines round her eyes or grooves that ran from her nose to her mouth. ‘Puppet lines’, they called them, and sometimes that was exactly what she felt like. Tyler’s puppet. Whatever Tyler wanted her to do, she did.

She was still in her prime. Forty was the new thirty, wasn’t it? And yet, some days she felt older than time itself. How old was this Louise? she wondered. Well, she guessed she’d find out soon enough. She’d be there tonight and they’d come face to face for the first time. She’d chosen her favourite dress for the occasion, a white Armani number. It was halter-neck with a plunging neckline and a low back. The material clung to her curves and showed off her toned body. She looked as good as she possibly could. Let’s see how this Louise competed with that. At least the hours spent in the gym proved useful sometimes.

This could be her moment to reassert her claim to Tyler. It was time to fight for her man. If only they could both throw off the weight that had insidiously settled on their shoulders and find the people they once used to be, maybe there was hope for them. Perhaps, if she could be the woman he used to love, then he wouldn’t look elsewhere. If he could be the man she thought she’d married, then perhaps she could look at him with love in her eyes once more.

Tonight, she was going to try her best to love her husband again and to make him love her back. It was the best reason she could think of for enduring the Christmas party.

Chapter Four

Melissa reached up to fasten the silk bow tie that hung limply and expectantly on Lance’s dinner shirt. Her nimble fingers deftly twisted and twiddled it into the desired shape. It was a deed she’d performed for more years than she cared to remember now, and she stood back to admire it. Years of practice had, in this case, made perfect. She patted it into place affectionately.

Lance Harvey checked his reflection in the stridently lit mirror in the hall. Her husband was older than her by eleven years, sixty-six to her fifty-five. Which hadn’t seemed so very much at one time, but now she thought the age difference was starting to show.

‘What would I do without you, angel?’ Lance said as he sucked in his stomach and lifted his chin.

‘Oh, I’m sure you’d manage.’ She kissed his cheek.

‘Never. You’re the light of my life.’ Her husband glanced at his watch. ‘Do we have time for a small bourbon before we leave?’

She shook her head. ‘Martin will be here any moment. You can have one in the car.’

He looked content with that idea.

There’d come a time, perhaps soon, when he’d stop working and it would be just the two of them together all day. How would she cope then?

‘Has Bud made any more noises about you retiring?’

Lance shook his head. ‘No. That’s definitely on the back burner for now.’

Bud Harman, who headed everything up in the USA, liked his executives to hang up their corporate hats early, but Lance wasn’t buying into that. So far, he’d soundly ignored all hints to that effect. Fossil Oil was his life. It always had been. He’d stick it out until the bitter end, until someone forced him to go.