Wife After Wife, page 13
Terri snorted. “Ana, do you really believe your own bullshit? Just tell me that. Honest answer.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Seriously? I know you’re young, and therefore perhaps not up to speed with the ways of the world, but do you really believe your talent is so outstanding that you could make art director that quickly? Do you not think family connections and ulterior motives might have had something to do with it? You know I rate your work, but . . . seriously? And Mia would never say no to Harry, but that doesn’t mean she didn’t want to. Watch your back.”
Ana’s mind whirled as she made her way back to her desk. Putting aside thoughts of Harry’s motivation, she wondered about Terri’s for a moment. Why would she be so patronizing about Ana’s promotion? Was she jealous? Did she have designs on Harry herself? Or was it just the whole tedious north-south divide business: grafting northerners having it “toof,” versus privileged southerners having everything on a plate?
Wait. What had Terri said? Family connections. Ana had assumed she was talking about Megan, but what if she’d meant Merry? Did Terri know something about that?
It was time for a chat with her sister.
* * *
• • •
Merry waved at Ana from her table at Joe Allen. She needn’t have bothered. She stood out like a poppy in a field of corn.
Over the past year or so, her hair had grown progressively lighter, from its natural honey blond to platinum, and she was wearing a white polo neck with several gold chains dangling over the precipice of her uplifted bust.
As she waved, most other people in the restaurant looked too.
“Hi,” Ana said, air-kissing her sister. There was far too much red lipstick involved to risk actual touching.
As Ana sat down, she wondered if the extra makeup was hiding something. Merry looked tired. “How are you, and how’s Will?”
“Been better,” said Merry. She waved over a waiter. “Wine, dear sister?”
“Make it a large one.”
“A bottle of Chablis, please.”
“Certainly, ladies,” said the young waiter. “Are you ready to order?”
“My sister needs five minutes,” said Merry.
“Sisters! Wow, one so blond and one so dark. Who’d have thought?”
Ana regarded him coolly, wishing he’d go away, while Merry bestowed one of her charming smiles. The type that made men feel so very special.
He hovered, Merry’s smile apparently canceling out the request for five more minutes.
“I’ll have the tuna Nicoise,” said Ana, smacking the menu shut and holding it out to him.
“And I’ll have the pasta of the day, sweetheart.” She held out her menu as if offering a ticket to paradise.
“Honestly,” said Ana when the waiter finally tore himself away. “Why do you feel the need—every time?”
“Oh dear, who rattled your cage?”
Ana sighed. “Sorry. It’s just . . . I’m so tired of the whole male-female politics thing, you know? I had some brilliant news today, and I was on cloud nine until my boss insinuated it was for reasons that might have nothing to do with my talent for the job.”
“Welcome to my world. Take no notice. They’ll just be madly jealous, you’re so beautiful. And pray what is this brilliant news? Have you been promoted?”
“Yes, to art director of Hooray!” She loved saying the words out loud. A thought occurred to her. “Did you know?”
“No, why would I have known? But gosh, Ana, that’s incredible—congratulations!” She waved the waiter back again.
“What are you doing? Leave the poor guy alone!”
“Sorry, darling,” Merry said to the waiter, who snapped back to her side as if she’d yanked his lead. “Can I change our wine order—what champagne do you have?”
She ordered a bottle of Laurent-Perrier. (“It’ll have to do.”)
“So, you were saying. Art director!”
“Yes. More responsibility, more money—Percy and I will be able to look for a house in a better area now. We haven’t found anything we like so far. Anyway, I nearly died of shock when Harry told me.”
A shadow passed over Merry’s face. “He personally told you? You must be doing well.”
Ana explained about the redundancies, describing the strange day, such a mixture of awful and good.
The waiter popped the champagne cork and poured them each a glass.
“Here’s to you, then, my super-successful sister!” said Merry, raising hers.
“Cheers,” said Ana, and took a small sip.
She placed her glass carefully down on the table, wondering how to phrase her question. “Merry? Can I ask you something personal? I know it’ll be difficult for you to answer, given where I work, but I feel I need to know because of things people have been saying, especially about my promotion.”
Merry looked wary. “I may not be able to answer, for the same reason.”
Ana took that to mean she was on the right track. “How well do you know Harry?”
“We’ve met a few times. He was at school with Will.”
“Did you say anything to him that would’ve helped me get the job at Rose?”
“I might have mentioned you were back from France and looking for a job and were artistically talented. I was trying to do you a favor. Why the sourpuss face?”
“Forewarned is forearmed. Apparently the editor of Hooray! will make my life hell if she thinks I’ve had preferential treatment from Harry.”
“Well, if you have, it was only that initial foot in the door. Honestly, I’ve hardly seen him.”
They’d reached an impasse, but Ana was sure from Merry’s manner that there was more to it.
“I’d stay away from Harry, actually,” Merry said, finally looking her in the eye. “I don’t think he’s faithful to his wife. You don’t want to be next on his TBB list.”
“TBB?”
“To Be Bonked.”
“Merry! I don’t think he’d fool around with anyone at the office, he’s too professional.”
Their food arrived, and talk turned to their parents down in Kent, and their younger brother Georgie, who would soon finish at Harrow. Then Merry said, “Will’s been . . . he’s not well.”
Ana’s heart sank, and she lowered her fork. “What’s wrong?”
“I expect you can guess.”
“You mean . . . HIV?”
She nodded. “One infection after the other, each one harder to shake off. He’s been laid up for weeks now and isn’t getting any better. He’s so thin, Ana. The prognosis is bleak.”
“Poor, poor Will. This is all wrong, he’s so lovely.” Ana felt tears rising and took a sip of her drink to distract herself. Suddenly the champagne tasted bitter.
“His friend Darius—you remember him?”
Ana nodded. Darius was the interior designer Will and Merry had employed to turn their Scottish castle from gloomy to glorious. He’d stayed on as some sort of manager for their American visitors, but their inner circle knew he was far more of a “wife” than Merry would ever be.
“He’s looking after Will. It’s horrible; I can’t bear to . . .” She stopped, took a deep breath. “I’m staying down here, mostly. You know I have the South Ken flat now? It was getting too expensive, staying in hotels all the time.”
“No, I didn’t know.” Ana was diverted from the dreadful news about Will for a moment, wondering why Merry hadn’t told her before. “Can I come round?”
“Sometime,” Merry said vaguely. “Tell me, do you hear much about Harry’s wife? Katie? I heard she was depressed after they lost that baby. Must be horrible for Harry.”
“He rarely discusses his home life with me. Poor Katie, she seems nice.”
“Seriously? That mouse? She is so not going to hold on to Harry unless she gets herself together.”
Ana frowned. “They were practically childhood sweethearts, or so Megan told me. You don’t turn your back on someone you’ve been with that long.”
“Oh no?” said Merry.
Ana decided to ask again. Merry was on her third glass of champagne, and her discretion was apt to fly out the window when she’d had a few.
“Hey, Merry, come on—it’s me. Be honest. Have you ever . . . you know, with Harry?”
Merry sighed. “Oh, what the heck. You’re my sister, and honestly, I could do with someone to talk to about it. But for god’s sake, not a word to anyone, or your shiny new job could disappear in a puff of smoke.” She took a large swig of champagne.
“Well?”
“Yes, Harry and I have been having . . . I was going to say a fling, but it’s turned into a lot more. We’re in love, actually. And we’ve been a great support to each other, with our respective marriage problems. I think I’d go mad if I didn’t have my time with him.”
Ana found she had no appetite. Why did she feel such dismay, when Merry was only confirming what she’d suspected?
“Don’t go all po-faced on me, just because you’re marrying your dream man. The rest of us have to make the best of our circumstances. You know part of my understanding with Will was that I could sleep with whomever I wanted. And I wanted Harry. Luckily he felt the same.”
“And Katie?”
“He married her too young, and for all the wrong reasons. He told me that. And he’s too decent to shake her off. For now. But who knows what the future might hold?”
Was Merry intending to marry Harry? Ana had always been aware of her sister’s mercenary streak, but this was ruthless forward planning.
“I’ve had enough, Merry,” she said, pushing her plate away. She wasn’t sure whether she was referring to her sister or the food.
“Ana, stop being so holier-than-thou. If I marry Harry, how is that a bad thing for you?”
Ana picked up her bag, took out her purse, and threw a few notes on the table. “I seem to have lost my appetite. That should cover my half. I’ll see you at Christmas.”
Merry glared at her, but there was hurt in there too.
Ana strode out without looking back. She found a phone box, made a quick call, then hailed a taxi. “Notting Hill,” she said to the driver, hoping he’d pick up on the “not in the mood to chat” subtext.
He did, and she spent the journey staring out of the window, barely registering the Christmas lights along Oxford Street.
The happiness she’d felt about her promotion had been eroded away throughout the day, firstly by Terri’s insinuations and now by Merry’s revelations about Will and Harry.
She needed Percy and had been so glad when he picked up the phone and told her to come on over, he was all alone.
She paid the driver and knocked on the front door, rubbing her arms against the winter chill.
“Hi!” he said as she stepped into the warmth. “What a nice surprise. What happened to dinner with Merry?”
“Cut short,” said Ana, unbuttoning her coat. “I’ll explain later.”
“Intriguing! Glass of wine? I’ve got a red open.”
He was wearing his acid-wash jeans again, teamed with a royal-blue V-neck sweater tucked in at the waist. Ana made a mental note to take him shopping.
“That’d be lovely,” she said, following him into the kitchen, trying not to notice the laddish chaos. “I’ve got some good news, but can we delay the champagne until I’m feeling happy about it again?”
“Champagne-worthy news? Why the long face, then?”
As he poured the wine, she explained about the new position, then about Terri’s allusions as to why she’d got the job.
“Actually, that’s not such a bad thing, you know.” Percy ushered her through to the living room. The only light was from a table lamp, and the coziness was soothing. Ana began to unwind as she sat on the sofa and unzipped her boots, lifting her legs across Percy’s.
“What do you mean?”
“If people think you’ve got a special relationship with Harry, for whatever reason, they’re going to treat you with respect, not the other way round, surely?”
“But I don’t want them thinking anything like that. I want to be respected for my work. Only my work. And I certainly don’t want them gossiping about me behind my back.”
“If Harry’s taking a special interest, who cares if that’s because you’re Megan’s friend, or he likes you, or just because you’re a great designer? Why would that piss you off?”
“Why would that . . . For heaven’s sake, Percy. Women should be judged on their ability to do a good job. Nothing else. Nobody ‘sleeps their way to the top’ anymore, and if anyone ever thought that about me—or even that I’d been promoted because I was a friend of the family, I’d be mortified. I need to put Terri straight. I just wish Merry wasn’t . . .” She stopped.
“Merry wasn’t what?”
“Look, you mustn’t repeat this, OK?”
He made a zipped-lips gesture, but Ana didn’t care for the way he perked up at the scent of gossip.
“Merry’s been seeing Harry, for a while now. I think she basically got me the job in the first place. And . . . Will’s HIV positive and isn’t well at all.”
“Oh no. That’s terrible news, I’m so sorry. And Merry—well, I did wonder, the way she was acting round Harry at the party.”
“Her ability to be discreet seems to have declined as her hair has got blonder.” Anger bubbled up inside as she remembered their conversation. “She’s talking about marrying Harry, once Will’s out of the way.”
“Seriously? She’s not at all the dumb blonde she makes out, is she?”
“Scheming blonde, more like. Can you believe it? Poor Will, with a terminal illness, and Harry’s wife losing a baby and now with depression. And all the while those two shagging in their secret South Ken love nest. It’s disgusting. And to think he was going on at Megan for having a thing with Charles. Bloody hypocrite.”
“Love nest?”
“Yup, they leased a flat when Merry started coming down to ‘stand in for Will at meetings.’ It’s all so seedy. I almost feel like chucking the job back at Harry.”
“Nah, you’re overreacting. Just be happy about it! Congratulations, you clever thing.”
Percy leaned across and took the glass from her hand. Putting it down, he took Ana’s face in his hands and kissed her, slowly and deeply. “How about we forget about work for now?” he murmured, his hand moving to her breast.
The tension of the day was sent packing to be replaced by a new sort, already being wound tight.
As Percy’s kiss became more demanding, and he began to unbutton her silk blouse, her body’s powerful response took Ana by surprise. As his lips traveled lower, she arched herself toward him, then at once pushed him roughly away. She quickly took off the blouse and then her bra, before setting about Percy’s jeans, filled with a need that refused to take things slowly. Yanking them off, and then his boxers, she wriggled out of her skirt and underwear and straddled Percy, pushing him back against the arm of the sofa. Flinging her head back, her thick black hair flying, she gave herself up to the desire that surged through her.
Afterward, as they lay on the sofa in the lamplight, Percy said, “That was incredible. You should get promoted more often.”
CHAPTER 19
Katie
April 1993
Katie snipped one final tulip to add to the flowers in her basket. The garden had burst into life after the long, dark days of winter. It amazed her, how nature bounced back with such vigor. Perhaps there was a lesson for her in that.
She made a mental note to thank Mr. Mayhew for his sterling work. Since last June, she’d been unable to find the energy for gardening. Even deadheading a faded rose was beyond her. They’d employed a housekeeper too. Sadie now did everything Katie no longer could, including looking after Maria.
Harry had given her two options: send their daughter away to school, or hire someone. Katie was grateful she now didn’t have to cope with the school run, playdates, children’s parties—any of it. If she wanted, she could sleep until lunchtime, and often did.
She was overwhelmed by the pointlessness of everything (especially herself), and the sadness of life. The antidepressants had helped a little, enabling her to get out of bed at some point during the day. And when she did, she would walk, alone in her world, to church, where she’d light candles for her dead babies. It was soothing, but she couldn’t give form or words to her thoughts. Her mind was empty, a void into which she dared not look.
Harry had work-therapied his way through his grief for Max. When Katie had failed to do the same, he became exasperated. Finally the pleas to make an effort had given way to a distance that now seemed impossible to bridge. Harry had washed his hands of her.
Cassandra had gone off to rehab with things between them unresolved. It had apparently been a success, and Katie was as pleased for Cassandra as her dull senses would allow. Tonight, she and Charles were coming for dinner (Sadie was cooking). Katie vaguely wondered why her old friend hadn’t been over before. Harry and Charles’s relationship had been sorely tested, thanks to whatever had gone on with Megan, but now their friendship seemed largely restored. Perhaps it was time for the four of them to properly reconnect.
* * *
• • •
“You look nice,” Harry said. “Thanks for making an effort.”
They were in their bedroom, changing for the evening. It was the first time he’d looked at her properly, or said anything complimentary, in weeks, but he sounded like a polite stranger.
“Thank you. I like your new haircut, by the way.”
“Do you? Someone at work said it makes me look like David Beckham. That’s got to be a good thing, right?”
For a moment Katie pictured Harry at work, surrounded by talented, fashionable young people, having a laugh, talking about what they’d be doing on the weekend. Then coming home to this melancholy house, quiet as the grave. Poor Harry.
