Wife After Wife, page 25
She linked her arm through Harry’s and they made their way down the aisle, past VIPs, grinning friends and relatives, and Janette, whose puffy red eyes were ringed with smudged mascara.
They honeymooned in Menton, in an achingly beautiful villa shared with Eliza, the nanny, and a local cook and housekeeper. Days in the pool with Eliza, sleepy afternoons when the heat was intense, a little light sex, delicious meals outside under the stars, walks in the old town.
“It’s so divine here,” said Ana. “I could happily live in Provence. Maybe we should buy somewhere.”
“La Vie en Ana Rose,” said Harry. “Funny you should say that. Welcome to your wedding present.”
* * *
• • •
“And baby came too. Not your traditional bonkfest, then,” said Terri, on Ana’s first day back at work, a month later.
“Not exactly, no. But it was lovely.”
“Glad to hear it. Welcome back, Mrs. Rose.”
Terri was the only person who seemed pleased to see her. “Fuck, you’re thinner than before you were pregnant. How’s that even possible?”
“Lack of sleep, probably. For new and less-fun reasons. Terri—what happened to your ‘fook’?”
“I’m turning into a southerner, innit? Anything you want to catch up on, babe, just buy me an expensive lunch and I’ll fill you in.”
Someone had taken over Ana’s old office, and she’d been allocated space on the finance floor. It was much bigger and had a great view over the Thames. But the department was silent, the accountants’ heads down, the only sound the tapping of keyboards and the ringing of phones, any conversation muted and murmured. Already she missed the buzz of the third floor, with its music and chatter, the creative vibe as people swapped opinions, ran ideas past each other.
Outside her door was her assistant Mark’s desk. He’d already disappeared on one of his fact-finding missions. In her absence he’d been seconded to the sales department, and she suspected he was back there, gossiping with his mates.
Next to her computer was a pristine notepad with neatly laid-out pens. She doodled a little artwork on the pad, just to put her mark on something. She needed to speak to Harry. Her managing editor role was a non-job, a sop. With the benefit of hindsight, she saw that clearly now. She didn’t want to be stuck up here shuffling papers while Rose forged ahead. She wanted to be part of it.
She picked up the phone. “Harry, please,” she said to Janette, fiddling with the cord as she waited.
“I’m sorry, he’s not here this morning. Can I take a message?”
“Where is he?”
A pause. “Shall I get him to ring you back this afternoon?”
“Does he have his mobile?”
“He’s in a meeting. I’ll tell him you rang.”
Ana put the phone down. She’d tackle him tonight.
Harry
You know my opinion, Ana. Stick with what you’re good at. We’re launching a new title, aimed at the executive woman. You could be art director.”
He really didn’t need this right now. What he needed was to relax with the paper and a glass of wine, while someone cooked him a decent meal. Today’s meeting with Charles and the Russians had been hard going; it was difficult to understand their thickly accented broken English. And there was an air of menace about them, in spite of the hearty smiles and backslapping. He hated to think where Sokolov’s billions had come from.
Thank heavens for Charles, who was brokering the investment for a dedicated football channel on Rose TV, his small but fast-growing satellite TV offering. The next step was apparently to procure the best seats for Chelsea’s forthcoming home game. Charles would need to come too, and in the meantime Harry intended to swot up on the offside rule.
“That’s it?” she said. “Art director? You think I’d be interested in going backward?”
“Look, Ana. What is it you actually want?”
“A role with teeth, Harry. A seat on the board. A directorship. You know I’m capable.”
“Leave it with me. Is there food? I’m starving.”
“Tegan left a lasagna. Can you put it in while I go and check on Eliza?”
“Why don’t you put it in and then check on Eliza. I’m bushed.”
“So am I! I had to brief Tegan before I left for work, then I was worrying all day about how Eliza would do without me, as well as trying to adjust to being back at work. Have a bit of consideration.”
He stood. “I’ll check on our daughter. You put the lasagna in. If you can manage it.”
CHAPTER 32
Ana
My honest opinion, babe?” said Terri, over lunch. “Leave Rose. Set up on your own. Harry’s got a lot on his plate—he’s deep into this satellite TV shit with the Russians. He’s bitten off more than he can chew there, I reckon. Bet they’re in the bloody Mafia.”
“It’s all aboveboard, Terri. Charles wouldn’t involve Harry in anything dodgy.”
“He’s a banker, isn’t he? They have the moral scruples of a horny Catholic priest in a roomful of altar boys.”
“Terri!”
“Seriously—wait until you read next week’s cover story. But I digress. Look, you’re stuck between a rock and a hard place. If you don’t complain, you stay in your non-job and all your talent goes to waste. If you do complain, Harry gets tetchy. Option three, set up your own design consultancy, and I for one will outsource work to you. Ana Rose Design. How classy does that sound?”
The beginnings of something she hadn’t felt in a while bubbled inside Ana. A creative rush. Harry would surely give her start-up money.
“It’s a good idea.”
“Fucking right it is.”
“Thanks a million, but please, not a word, until I’ve bounced it off Harry.”
“You can do it, Ana. And now, my sweet, I have to go—I’m interviewing Tony Blair this afternoon. Can’t wait to find out if this New Labour hype is a whole new way or a whole new load of bollocks.”
“The Cool Britannia thing seems a bit fake, don’t you think? But you must be so pleased to see the back of the Tories. Unlike Harry. He’s apoplectic.”
“I’m not sure. Blair’s got shifty eyes. I don’t trust him.”
* * *
• • •
Ana broached the subject of Ana Rose Design with Harry that evening. He was distracted, knocking back more than his usual glass or two of red.
“I’d have to see the figures, projections. Put something together— a proposal. Make it look good, then the finance guys might take it seriously.”
Well it wasn’t a no, at least.
October 1998
Ana had to look hard to identify Merry, waiting in the arrivals area of Edinburgh Airport. It had been five years since she last saw her.
“I’m not as I was,” her sister had said over the phone. “Think country matron.”
Merry was wearing a tweed jacket and jeans, and her hair was loosely tied back. Rosy cheeks hinted at long walks across the heather with the dogs.
“It’s so good to see you!” said Ana. “Here, hold your niece so I can give you a hug.”
“Well, hello there, wee bairn. I’m your auntie Merry, and you are so adorable I might just have to keep you with me, locked up in a high castle tower.” She pronounced it too-er.
Ana sensed a relief in Merry as profound as her own as they settled into the familiar comfort of their pre-Harry relationship, chatting on the scenic drive from Edinburgh to Kindrummon. Eliza was asleep, and didn’t wake when they stopped at a picnic site overlooking the Cairngorms.
The air was chilly, but Merry fetched Ana a fleece from the car, saying, “Och, ye Sassenach softie, it must be at least eight degrees today—prrractically tropical.”
Ana hunkered into the jacket and looked out across the mountains, their tops dusted with snow. Clouds scudded across the sky, casting quick-change light and shade across the hills and glens. The only sound was the breeze whistling through the grass.
It was lovely to be up here, with Merry and Eliza, and she felt the loss of the wasted years.
“So, sister,” said Merry as they tucked into sandwiches. “Now that normal relations have been resumed, dare we risk dipping our toes into heart-to-heart territory?”
“Let’s give it a go.”
“How are things with you and Harry—truth only, please.”
Ana sighed. “Truth. OK. I don’t know. Tricky. Working for him has been difficult. I want to leave Rose Corp. and set up on my own, but I need Harry’s financial support to do that. Otherwise, well, he’s so busy. Gets home late, doesn’t switch off at weekends. He’s fantastic with Eliza, though. He loves her to bits.”
“Does he love you to bits?”
“You can’t keep that initial passion thing going forever, can you? Truth is, I think he wanted me a lot more when I didn’t want him. I wasn’t playing hard to get, I honestly didn’t like him an awful lot. But then I got to know him better, and I liked him more. And then I fell in love with him.”
“He’s hard to resist. Any other women?”
The blunt question took Ana by surprise. “No! He doesn’t even have time for me, how would he fit in another woman?”
“Good. Does Mum keep telling you Ways to Keep Your Husband Happy?”
Ana laughed. “Oh yes. The whole ‘full makeup and a welcoming smile when they come home’ thing. Dinner on the table five minutes later. Shame I don’t cook. Harry loves to remind me what a good cook Katie was.”
Merry gazed out over the mountains. “I still feel bad about Katie. I thought I was so clever, nabbing gorgeous Harry from his boring little wife. Now that I know how that feels, I often wonder about her.”
* * *
• • •
Ana was more relaxed than she’d felt in years. Evenings were spent lounging in front of the fire in the drawing room, Merry’s two setters stretched out on the rugs. The chef brought them dinner on trays, which they ate in front of the TV. In the mornings, while Merry saw to estate business, Ana would carry Eliza down to the loch, only a tiny portion of her face visible between a warm coat and woolly hat. She’d put her down and she’d wobble around, delighting in the pebbles on the beach, the waves, the waterbirds, her red curls poking out from beneath her hat.
Afternoons were spent rambling over the mountainsides with Merry, Eliza in the baby backpack. Sometimes they chatted; often they walked in companionable silence.
On Wednesday morning, just after Ana had returned from her walk, the bedroom phone rang. It was an ancient-looking thing with an old-fashioned dial.
It was Megan.
“Hi, darling! How lovely of you to ring. Gosh, you and Charles should come up here with your girls. It’s glorious. I—”
Megan had started crying.
“Megan? What on earth’s wrong?” Her heart dropped. Had Charles reverted to his womanizing ways?
Finally Megan managed to speak. “Don’t tell Charles. Or anyone, not even Harry.”
“You’re scaring me. What’s going on?”
“I found a lump.”
Ana sat down on the bed, staring unseeingly at Eliza’s goofy smile. “Don’t panic, Megan. People are always finding lumps. They’re almost always benign. Don’t worry yourself sick, get it checked.”
“I did. It’s malignant.”
“Oh no. How . . . I mean, what—”
“Don’t know yet, but I needed to tell someone.”
“Why not Charles? You two are so close.”
“I don’t want to say anything until I have more answers for him. I’ve got a scan Friday morning—”
“I’m coming with you.”
“But you’re up there.”
“I’ll only lose a day. You can’t go through this on your own. I’ll call you as soon as I’m back. And, darling, try not to worry. You know how good the specialists are these days.”
They ended the call. Shakily, she picked up Eliza and hugged her close.
* * *
• • •
Ana gave the taxi driver a generous tip as he helped her unload all the gear she’d needed for taking Eliza to Scotland.
“Home, Eliza!” she said, enjoying the elegant facade of their Chelsea house.
She hauled the bags into the hallway and was about to go into the kitchen when she heard a noise from upstairs.
She froze.
It came again.
After her initial panic, she realized—that was no burglar.
As she silently climbed the stairs, she experienced an out-of-body moment, watching herself about to see something she didn’t want to see, but unable to stop herself from getting closer.
The sounds became clearer, unmistakable. Moaning, gasping, rhythmic. The thumping of the bedhead against the wall.
Out of some ridiculous wish to protect Eliza, she diverted into the nursery and put the baby in her cot, where she was happy reuniting with her soft toys.
Ana went back onto the landing. The sounds were louder now, the banging of the bedhead faster, more frantic. Out-of-body Ana noted in-body Ana’s feelings: fear, anger, despair.
She opened the bedroom door, just a crack, and peered in.
Janette, dressed only in stockings, suspenders, and high heels, was riding Harry like a jockey heading down the home straight, bouncing up and down, her breasts jiggling, her head flung back, now shrieking, “Yes! Yes! Oh YES, Harry!”
Harry was watching her in delight, his hands on her hips.
“Faster, Harry!”
Ana thought she might vomit. She kicked the door hard, and it crashed open the rest of the way.
Harry’s eyes met hers and widened, and he leaped off the bed, tumbling Janette off him. Janette grabbed the sheet and held it up to her chest, white-faced.
“Ana, oh god, Ana, I thought—”
“Seriously, Harry?” she said, her voice full of contempt. “Your sad little secretary? Desperate times. I’ll be downstairs, when you’re done.”
She shut the door behind her and returned to Eliza’s room. She was already asleep, tired after the long journey. Her hands shaking, Ana gently pulled up the blanket and made her way downstairs.
Her mind was numb. She poured herself a wine and sat at the kitchen worktop, staring into space. Just one day ago she’d been so happy. How quickly things could come tumbling down.
She heard feet on the stairs, then the front door shutting.
Harry appeared in the kitchen doorway, dressed in jeans and a sweater, his hair tousled, his cheeks still pink.
“Ana, I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry, you shouldn’t have had to see that.”
“How long has this rather pathetic . . . thing been going on?”
“It’s not a thing. It’s just . . . only once or twice. I didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt. I’m sorry.”
“So you said. You know what, Harry? If it’d been someone like Merry, I might have understood. But her? She’s a moron. Why—”
“She’s not a moron. I realize she doesn’t have your style or your sharp brain, but she’s kind, and she understands me.”
“Did you really just say that, Harry? She understands you? Because she types your letters and knows how you like your coffee? And have you told her your wife doesn’t understand you? Well? Have you, Harry?” Her voice rose, and finally the fury rushed in. “ANSWER ME, Harry!”
“I don’t remember saying those exact words.”
Ana picked up her wineglass and threw the contents at Harry. When they fell short, she threw the glass.
“You BASTARD!”
He ducked, and it smashed on the wall behind him. Then she picked up a plate from a pile draining by the sink, and threw that.
“You UTTER fucking BASTARD!”
As she picked up another, Harry left the kitchen and shut the door quickly. The plate smashed against it.
The red mist dissipated and she doubled over, crying great, heaving sobs. She couldn’t forget Harry’s expression of joy as he’d thrust into Janette. With Ana, his face only ever showed intense concentration.
She sank onto a stool and rested her head on her arms, tears soaking her sleeves. Her heart was breaking, shattering into pieces like the fragments of glass and china all over the floor.
A while later she sat up and took some deep breaths. Then she opened the kitchen door, swiping her wet cheeks with the palms of her hands.
“Where are you?” she called.
“Drawing room.”
He was sitting in an armchair, staring into space. “I love you, Ana,” he said. “Can we talk about this?”
“I want a divorce.”
“Ana, it was one mistake. Every marriage has its ups and downs. Things haven’t been good for a while, you know that. We can sort it, though. Do you want me to fire Janette?”
“Do what you want, Harry. I can’t spend my life worrying what you’re up to every time my back’s turned. You were unfaithful to Katie, and now you’ve been unfaithful to me. For all I know, Janette could be one of many. I can’t trust you anymore. I’m calling my lawyer tomorrow. Oh, not tomorrow, actually, because I’ll be with your sick sister. Did you know about that? No, thought not. Well, when you feel like thinking about someone other than yourself, you SELFISH BASTARD, perhaps you’d like to give her a call. But not yet, because she needs to talk to Charles first. Do you see, Harry, how when women need someone to rely on, it’s never a man?”
Trying not to care about the shock on Harry’s face, she left the room.
CHAPTER 33
Harry
December 1998
It was that time again—the Rose Christmas party. Fatboy Slim was rocking the dance floor, and Rose employees were, as always, embracing the Christmas spirit. Harry smiled indulgently as he watched them.
