And so I called the one person I knew who’d tell me what I should do, or else tell me to snap out of it.
The phone rang three times, and was then answered very abruptly.
‘What now?’ sighed Nelson. ‘THAT’S NOT WHAT I CALL A SHEET KNOT, LEANNE! DO YOU WANT THIS SHIP TO CRASH INTO ROCKS AND SPLINTER INTO MATCHSTICKS BECAUSE OF YOUR NAILS? AGAIN, PLEASE!’
‘You were wrong!’ I wailed. ‘I took your advice and I’ve really messed things up with Jonathan. I think . . . I think I’ll have to come home!’
Nelson sighed again, and I heard him order some minion to take over. I think I even heard the minion say, ‘Aye, aye, Cap’n,’ but that might have been underprivileged urchin cheek.
‘Right, quickly, please, and don’t leave anything out,’ he said, but his voice was more gentle than his words.
I tried to explain as quickly and as simply as I could. Nelson’s clicking and whistling put me off rather, but I forced the words out, even though I winced inside at each one.
‘Right,’ he said eventually, ‘I assume you did all this out of your usual misguided desire to help everyone apart from yourself? And to prove to Remington Steele that you were just as capable in New York as you are here?’
‘Yes! I don’t humiliate myself for fun, you know!’
‘God, you’re dim,’ he sighed. ‘Adorable, but dim. OK, first of all, don’t come home.’
My heart sank. ‘Ever?’
‘No! Don’t come home now, like you’ve done something wrong. You’re not having an affair, you’re not working on the side, and you’re not lying to him. If you come home it’ll be like admitting you are. You’ll just have to wait for him to calm down, then explain that you weren’t doing the pretend girlfriend stuff as a job, you were helping out a friend. OK, you should have told him, but, you know, control freakery and all that. Pretty bad show.’
‘You think?’ I said doubtfully. ‘But it’ll be unbearable. He’s furious.’
‘Melissa,’ said Nelson. ‘If this paragon of estate agency ends up marrying you, it won’t be the last time you’ll do something so daft that he’ll be speechless with fury. But if he has anything about him, he’ll also realise that you did it for the very best reasons, and if he loves you, he’ll see why that’s far more important than some wifey who just follows orders.’
Tears started to slide down my cheeks again, but I managed a weak smile through them.
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘I know you don’t like him very much.’
‘It’s not that. I, er, don’t really think I’m . . .’ Nelson decided not to go on with whatever he had in mind, but instead said, ‘Look, Melissa, it’s really very simple: ask yourself, what would your granny do? She’s bound to have been in a similar situation. Why don’t you phone her?’
‘No,’ I said, looking out over the park railings. ‘No, I don’t need to do that. I just wanted to . . . talk to you.’
‘Jolly good,’ he said gruffly. ‘Flat OK?’
For some reason, that little question was more comforting than an hour of soothing noises. ‘Yes, I called in while I was back in London, and it seemed to be going to schedule.’ I hesitated. ‘I’m not sure Gabi’s being all that strict with the builders though. She seems to be, um, out quite a lot.’
‘Yes,’ said Nelson. ‘I hear she’s been out keeping Roger company.’
‘Really?’ I hedged. How much did he know?
‘Indeed so.’ Nelson sounded quite amused. ‘So we’d both better hurry back and save them from a social fate worse than death, eh?’
He didn’t seem very concerned, and I wondered whether I ought to warn him that his weeping dockside girlfriend wasn’t acting quite so weepy in his absence. Not that it was any of my business, but Roger was his best friend. And Gabi was my best friend. And the consequences for our mutual social lives could be vile.
‘Look, much as I’d love to sit and hear you snivel transatlantically, I have a deck inspection to supervise and you have a boyfriend to make up with. Am I going to see you in a few weeks?’
‘I’ll be on the dockside with my hanky, Cap’n,’ I assured him.
‘Yes, well, make sure you have your adoring American there too,’ he replied, and was then cut off amidst clanking background noises.
I hoped the urchins hadn’t decided to punish him for unauthorised use of a mobile phone. Those cabin-boys in Hornblower novels could be vicious.
I put my phone back in my bag and sat for a moment, pulling myself together. I had to go back and try to fix what I’d broken, even if it turned out to be unfixable. Never let it be said that I ran away from my own problems, or tried to pretend that someone else’s didn’t exist. At least then I’d know.
I was still fighting the temptation to phone British Airways and get on the first flight home when I walked up the front steps. Maybe Jonathan had been right; I didn’t have the same understanding of New York that I did in London. It was like hearing a familiar song sung in a different language; when you tried to join in, it didn’t sound in tune.
But I kept Nelson’s words in the forefront of my mind, and made myself walk back into the house where Jonathan sat on the leather sofa, staring blankly into space. The room was dark, with only the street light filtering through the trees outside, dappling the faded walls. He still hadn’t made a wallpaper/paint decision.
I went to turn on the main light, then stopped.
Braveheart saw me walk in, and launched himself through the room, his claws skittering on the wooden floorboards. I picked him up as he tried to lick my face.
This wasn’t helping my dignified speech, but it gave me something to hold onto.
‘Jonathan, I’m sorry,’ I began. ‘I know I’ve done something you didn’t want me to do. I had no intention of hurting you, or embarrassing you – that’s why I wore the wig. So no one would know it was me.’
He turned round, and I was shocked at the stoniness of his face, which made the presidents on Mount Rushmore seem positively festive. It was the expression he wore when he didn’t want anyone to see what he was feeling; the last time I’d seen him look this grim was when he was telling me about his divorce from Cindy, way back before we started dating properly.
‘It’s not about the damn wig,’ he snapped. ‘Although why you think no one would recognise you in it is yet another manifestation of this weird lack of esteem thing you have and . . . Oh, I can’t be bothered having that conversation again. You just don’t get it, do you?’
‘I do!’ I protested. ‘I understand perfectly. You don’t want me to show you up! You didn’t want me to be working in New York! And I swear to you, I wasn’t – I was honestly just doing a favour for a friend who—’
‘Happened to be in love with you?’
I went crimson. ‘Oh, he’s not. That was the vodka talking. Anyway, not all exes are mad and out for revenge. I’m good friends with, well, nearly all of my exes. He’s just—’
Jonathan raised an eyebrow. ‘How are you still so naïve?’ he demanded.
‘I’d rather be naïve than cynical!’ I protested hotly. ‘And at least I told you about Godric. How many times have you been meeting up with Cindy without telling me? Eh? How many phone calls have you two had? What else has she been doing?’
‘That’s not the point!’
‘It is!’
‘Fine, maybe it’s a point, but let’s deal with Godric first, OK?’
Braveheart wriggled and I put him down, seizing the opportunity to reorder my thoughts.
I couldn’t believe it. This was our first big row.
When I stood up, I took a deep breath and put my hands on my hips. ‘Jonathan, I am sorry. I really am. I had no intention of showing you up. I was simply doing what I thought was an easy, helpful favour for a friend in need.’ I looked at him stoutly. ‘I have so many chances to make you happy, and only had to do this one small thing for Godric. I was only there to make sure he met up with Kirsty, his ex, so they could reconcile, and . . . all right, maybe
it wasn’t the best idea to use the wig, but at the time it seemed like the best way of not showing you up. You have so much confidence, so much . . . aplomb, and he has none. And I know how he feels.’
‘Melissa, Ric is a film star,’ said Jonathan patiently. ‘If he can’t walk into a party on his own, he’s going to have something of a career problem.’
‘But he’s not a film star! He’s just a normal man, a chap who did some acting at school, then some acting for money, and now he’s just an actor who happens to have got famous . . .’ I trailed off, realising how weak that sounded.
Jonathan shook his head. ‘But why can’t you see how that makes me feel? Arriving at a party, only to find my girlfriend wrapped around some pin-up?’
‘I wasn’t wrapped . . . You’re not jealous of Godric, are you?’ I asked, shocked. ‘I mean, there’s nothing to be jealous of!’
‘No?’ A flash of vulnerability broke through the chiselled granite for a second. ‘When he was hanging off your neck, was that just acting?’
‘I’m not going to dignify that with a response,’ I retorted. ‘Have I made a big deal about you selling your flat for Cindy? Letting her carry on interfering in your life?’
Jonathan’s head whipped up. ‘Hey! That was uncalled for.’
‘I don’t think so,’ I said. ‘Some girls might have stamped their feet over it, but I haven’t. Because I trust you. And I thought you trusted me.’
A terrible silence fell.
‘I thought I could,’ said Jonathan quietly, his face suddenly very sad. My heart cracked. ‘Maybe you’re not the one with the problem.’
‘Jonathan!’ I said, hurling myself across the room like Braveheart, and kneeling on the sofa next to him. ‘Don’t be silly! Of course you can trust me!’
For an awful second, I thought he was going to push me away, but he slid an arm around my waist so I fell against him, then hugged me hard for a few minutes, while neither of us spoke.
Finally, he drew a deep breath. ‘From now on I’ll tell you whenever Cindy calls. You can see all the cell phone bills. I didn’t mention it, because I didn’t want you worrying.’
‘I’m not a little girl,’ I replied. ‘I can cope with the idea that she’s around.’
‘Yeah, well, maybe I can’t.’ He looked at me. ‘If it makes you feel better, I’ll ask her not to come to the fundraiser at the Met next week.’
Jonathan had been working on this fundraiser for months now; apparently charitable volunteering was a significant element of his new role. From the papers I’d seen, it was something between a state opening of Parliament and the New Year’s Ball in Vienna.
‘She’s hosting a table,’ he went on, pained, ‘but if it makes you feel better . . .’
‘No,’ I said. I wasn’t running scared of her. I was a St Cathal’s girl. ‘She’s part of your past. But she doesn’t have to be more than a bit player in your future.’
Jonathan looked at me with what I hoped was admiration, and I seized the moment.
‘But, Jonathan, we’re not going to have a future if you don’t make some more time for me,’ I said bravely. ‘I’ve hardly seen you. I didn’t fly all the way over here to hang out with your dog and your secretary, agreeable though they both are.’
‘Honey, you know how busy I’ve—’
‘I do know. But you’re the boss. And I’m going to have to go back to London any minute.’ I gazed up at him. ‘Then you’ll be wishing you’d spent the afternoon viewing me instead of chasing phone calls in the office. Even Bloomingdales gets kind of lonely when you’re on your own all day.’
‘I didn’t realise you were lonely.’ He sighed. ‘Guess when you put it like that, it sounds so simple.’
‘That’s because it is.’
‘Yes, well, your front elevations are a darn sight more attractive than most of my current portfolio.’ Jonathan twisted my hair round his fingers, sliding them into the ringlets he’d made. ‘It’s not a case of choosing between you or work, Melissa. You should know that. Don’t ask me for something you know I can’t deliver.’
My throat tightened. That wasn’t what I wanted to hear. But Jonathan hadn’t finished.
‘But, yeah, I take your point. I haven’t made enough free time for you, and that’s more my loss than yours. I’m going to fix that.’ He lifted my chin so I could see from his serious grey eyes that he meant what he said. ‘And if I do that for you, will you—’
I flinched, not wanting to hear him say it. ‘Don’t. I’ve learned my lesson. No more man management.’
‘Don’t look so whipped.’ Jonathan traced the lines of my face, up over my cheeks, around my nose. ‘There are plenty other ways you can do your thing in New York without wearing yourself out dealing with idiots like Ric, you know.’
‘Like what?’
‘Well, like this baby shower you’re planning for Diana. You’ll make an awesome job of that. She knows so many people in Manhattan, I’m sure you wouldn’t have a minute to spare if you wanted to set yourself up advising on that type of event.’
Visions of endless grabby shopping lists filled my head, but right then I’d have agreed to become Braveheart’s full-time PA if it meant halting the downward spiral to dumpsville.
‘Let’s enjoy the rest of your time here,’ said Jonathan softly.
‘Right,’ I said. At least he wanted me to stay. He was even looking ahead to my working. Surely that was good? ‘Well, I could certainly do that, I suppose. Yes. I could definitely do that.’
‘Melissa, you make me so happy.’ With one strong movement, Jonathan lifted me up into his lap and snuggled me into his chest.
I relaxed completely, as powerful relief chemicals flooded my system, sweeping away any awkward little protesting voices in my head. I felt as though I’d slid right to the edge of the precipice, seen the terrifying drop at the edge, and somehow managed to cling on.
‘We’re good then?’ he murmured into my hair.
‘Yes,’ I said, inhaling his familiar warm smell. ‘We’re good.’
22
For the next few days I threw myself into being the perfect girlfriend with a vigour that would have winded Martha Stewart. I chased up the designers and the builders and all the other teams of people working on Jonathan’s dream house, and had the conversations he hadn’t had time to have, including some tough talking about deadlines.
I taught Braveheart to fetch without destroying the item being fetched.
I made sure the bits of the house not being worked on were tidy and clean, and put flowers on the kitchen table, and read the instructions for all the appliances.
I even made my phone calls to the agency in the dead of night, or under the guise of walking Braveheart, and never even referred to the problems that Allegra and Gabi were stirring up between them at home.
And, armed with a couple of new American etiquette books for reference, I made arrangements to meet up with Diana Stuyvesant to talk about her baby shower.
The summit meeting took place in Diana’s airy Upper West Side condo, and featured the contributions of Indiscreet Jennifer and Bonnie, as well as my own suggestions.
Cindy, for me at least, was more conspicuous by her absence than she would have been had she turned up. I spotted a couple of spaces on the grand piano where photographs had been swiftly whisked out of sight, and not rearranged to cover the gaps.
Still, thinking of Jonathan, and wanting to be as helpful as I could, I fixed my smile and pretended not to notice.
‘OK, I want you to make this as British as possible!’ said Diana, clapping her hands with delight.
‘Well, I can’t make it totally British,’ I replied patiently, ‘because, as I said before, we don’t really have baby showers.’
‘Whyever not?’ demanded Jennifer, as if it were the most barbaric thing she’d heard in her life. ‘How does the poor mom get any stuff?’
‘She buys it herself from John Lewis,’ I said, with the merest hint of gritted teeth.
Honestly. We’d been here nearly an hour and so far all they’d discussed was where to lodge the registry. Between weddings, sweet sixteens, twenty-firsts, confirmations, birthdays, graduations, anniversaries, new pets and house-warmings, there didn’t seem to be a single occasion that you couldn’t issue a list of demands for in New York. Whereas I distinctly recalled getting my Christmas list back from Santa with various items crossed out and appended with the rather innocence-crushing note: ‘Santa is not made of money.’
‘Why don’t you make it completely unique and instead of asking for gifts, ask for . . . advice?’ I suggested, seizing on something I’d read in Emily Post’s enormous Bible of Proper Behaviour. ‘You could ask your guests to ask their mothers for the best piece of advice they learned when they had their first babies – you know, get a blackout curtain for the bedroom, or what have you. Then you can make a scrap book, with everyone writing in their ideas, and maybe sticking in a baby picture of their own?’ I paused. ‘I mean, I don’t have children, so I don’t know any specific examples, but I’m sure mothers will have some good practical ideas. And we could get a really gorgeous hand-bound book from somewhere.’
‘I had a nanny,’ said Jennifer. ‘But I guess I could ask her?’
Diana nodded. ‘I’ll be having a day nurse when baby arrives. And a night nurse too, for the first six months at least. Steve was insistent.’
‘You’ll need her for longer than that,’ warned Bonnie. ‘How else are you going to have time to fit in moments for yourself . . . and Steve?’ she added, with a knowing look.
‘Well, why not ask all the nannies for ideas!’ I said quickly. ‘It can be like a Do-It-Yourself Supernanny manual!’
‘Oh, that is so perfect!’ squeaked Diana. ‘Supernanny! Write that down at once! I love it!’
‘You shouldn’t even be here,’ said Jennifer sternly. ‘This is meant to be a surprise.’
Diana pulled a face. ‘I had a surprise on my bridal shower, if you remember? A visit from that mad bitch feminist divorce lawyer to make sure we all had adequate pre-nups? Remember? Jacqueline got hysterical because she didn’t have one at all? And Cindy got up in her grill about how she had a duty to protect herself, and my mother ended up leaving in tears? Not doing surprises again, thank you.’
Little Lady, Big Apple Page 36