How would Tyler cope with Simon as his boss? No doubt he’d be even more unbearable to work for, and she pitied his poor staff. Even Louise. Despite their illicit relationship, she’d probably take the brunt of it. Well, good luck to her. That’s what the girl had stupidly signed up for.
Kirsten sighed and hugged herself. It had been so wonderful to see Simon again. Her eyes filled with tears just thinking about him. She dared not even let herself dwell on it. Wasn’t it supposed to be bad pennies that turned up again, not good ones? It was just as well she’d ripped up his business card, otherwise she’d be sorely tempted to call him. Simon would know what to say. Simon would know how to put everything right.
She scanned the immense driveway, but there was still no sign of her taxi. Surely it would be here soon?
Her phone rang and she saw from the display that it was Tyler. There was nothing she wanted to say to her husband, so she let it go to voicemail. A moment later a text pinged in from him too. She didn’t even look at it. Nothing Tyler could say or do would change her mind this time. From this day forward, the less she had to do with him the better.
And what of Simon? Where was he? Had he already left the party?
She’d loved him so much that her heart had been filled by him. But ten years on she wondered what love was. She wasn’t sure she had a definition for it any more, or believed in its vain promises, invariably broken. It certainly wasn’t the stuff romantic novelists churned out.
Love wasn’t running hand-in-hand along a deserted beach, candlelit dinners for two, or rampant sex every night complete with multiple orgasms that required you to be peeled off the ceiling, faint with ecstasy, afterwards. Love was producing edible meals night after relentless night, and rowing about the children you’d borne together. It was struggling to pay the bills, keeping the paintwork on the windows from peeling, and mowing the lawn. It was squeezing lovemaking into the daily grind rather than spending all day in bed in a haze of sated delight. It was doing all those things and still, at the end of the day, being each other’s best friend in life, each other’s bedrock. That was the sort of love she could have had with Simon, she was certain. Their love was grounded, real, it would have deepened, developed into something solid and sure. It would have become the ordinary, day-in-day-out kind of love, the sort that makes marriages last for twenty, thirty, forty years. The kind of love that she and Tyler had never managed to achieve.
Kirsten was startled by the thought. Perhaps she’d been out of love with Tyler for a lot longer than she’d realised. Their marriage ended here and now. That was her vow and this time she’d keep it. She was leaving him and it felt as if a weight that she’d been carrying around for years had been lifted from her shoulders. Suddenly, she felt as light and free as one of the snowflakes that were falling all around her.
Kirsten felt as if she should cry, but bizarrely she wanted to laugh. Holding out a hand, she caught a snowflake and watched it melt on her open palm. That was what she felt for Tyler now. Somehow, just like the snowflake, he was melting away, disappearing to nothing in an instant.
There would be a painful aftermath. Of that she had no doubt. Tyler wouldn’t let her go lightly. He’d make it as difficult as possible for her to divorce him. It might not be that he still wanted her, but he’d hate to feel as if he was losing anything.
It was ridiculous, but she actually felt like dancing in the snow. A giggle rose in her throat at the thought. Why shouldn’t she? She didn’t have to answer to anyone now. Feeling like a silly schoolgirl, she shrugged off her coat and left the shelter of the portico, going down the steps to the front of the house. In the chill night, Kirsten lifted her face to the snow and then her arms. The icy flakes tingled as they landed on her bare skin, which burned almost feverishly. They soaked into her dress and clung to her.
Within seconds her shoes were sodden, but she didn’t care. She twirled and twirled, spinning amidst the snow. If she could stay like this for ever, then she might be happy.
A few moments later, when she was feeling dizzy and lightheaded, a car pulled up next to her and she stopped whirling.
‘You know you’ll catch your death of cold?’
She’d assumed it was her taxi, finally arrived. But when she turned to look, it was Simon, in a low sports car with a softly purring engine. White smoke clouds billowed from the trembling exhaust. They cascaded upwards against the natural order of gravity, to float away into nothingness in the freezing, expectant sky.
He’d slid down his window and was leaning out. Snowflakes landed on his hair and the arm of his dinner suit. Kirsten found that she wanted to brush them away.
‘Has anyone ever told you that you’re crazy?’ he said.
Kirsten let her arms fall to her sides. ‘I’ve never felt more sane in my entire life.’
He laughed. ‘That’s quite a worrying thought.’ Then, ‘What exactly are you doing out here?’
‘I’m having fun,’ she said. ‘For the first time in many years.’
‘Well,’ he said. ‘In that case, I could join you. Maybe even whup you in a snowball fight. Or I could offer you a lift to somewhere.’
‘I am getting cold,’ Kirsten admitted. ‘I’m heading for home. I’d ordered a taxi, but it hasn’t turned up yet.’
‘You could consider me Conway’s Reliable Cars.’
It only took her a moment to consider it. ‘I think that would be an excellent idea.’
‘No Tyler?’
She shook her head. ‘No Tyler.’
‘Jump in.’ He reached across to open the car door in anticipation.
Kirsten retrieved her coat and slipped it on to her shoulders, giving an involuntary shiver.
‘The heater’s on full blast,’ Simon said as he took in her now-chattering teeth. ‘We’ll soon have you warm again.’
She slid into the car next to him. It was hot inside, comforting, and smelled of new leather. The upholstery was warm to the touch. She sank gratefully into the seat next to him.
‘Kick off those wet shoes,’ he instructed.
She did, and enjoyed rubbing her tingling feet on the plush carpet in the footwell.
‘So. Where to?’
‘I’m not sure.’ She wanted to go home, but it seemed so safe a choice now that the whole world was her oyster. No longer would her place of residence be dictated by Tyler’s career. It seemed like another small but important liberty.
‘We could go to my place?’
Kirsten shook her head. ‘I’d rather go home.’ She couldn’t think of anywhere better. It was unnerving enough being with Simon again; perhaps familiar surroundings would settle her. ‘We live in Hampstead. Is that too far?’
‘Not at all. Settle back. Enjoy the ride.’
He flicked on the sound system in his car and the soothing voice of Emilia Mitiku drifted out. It was like being cosseted in a cosy blanket and she smiled to herself. Simon always had liked his music mellow.
Their eyes locked briefly before Kirsten broke the contact and turned to stare out of the slightly misted window.
The car purred away, the gravel giving a protesting crunch in its wake. She turned in her seat to watch Wadestone Manor slowly recede into the background. The lights were all blazing out into the night. The huge Christmas trees sparkled with all their might. Inside, the party would still be in full swing for a good few hours yet. Tyler would no doubt find something to distract himself in her absence, and good luck to him. She turned back, keeping her eyes fixed to the road ahead.
This would be her very last Christmas party with Fossil Oil, with Tyler, and the truth of it was that she was so glad to be leaving it all behind.
‘OK?’ Simon asked.
She felt elated and wired. But also tired and maybe a little weary. ‘Yes. I’m fine.’
And, despite everything, she knew that she would be.
Chapter Thirty-one
Since her meeting with Tyler in the library, Melissa had just wanted to cry. Eventually she could hold her
emotions in check no longer and she’d stolen away from Lance for a few minutes. She’d gone and locked herself in one of the cubicles in the powder room. Now she let the tears flow untrammelled; they felt as if they were pouring straight from her heart.
Surely it was only teenagers who allowed themselves to get into such a terrible state over the opposite sex? How could she have reached half a century on this planet and not realised that they would all, eventually, let you down?
Melissa sat on the loo seat and hugged herself. Damn Tyler Benson for reducing her to this. Taking a tissue out of her diamanté clutch bag, she dabbed at her eyes. At the age of fifty-five she’d hoped that her life would be settled. That she and Lance would be growing old gracefully together. How had that plan gone so very dreadfully awry?
Melissa wondered whether it was too late to change things now. Was there any way that she could get Lance to address the problems his drinking caused? Fossil Oil would probably pay for him to go into a rehab programme. The first step, of course, was getting him to admit it. Lance was actually quite happy to be a drunk. It was only those around him who had to contend with the devastating consequences.
She knew that the answer to her problems wasn’t to blot them out by having affairs. Until now, she’d managed to kid herself that they were meaningless to her. That was until she met Tyler Benson. He was cut of exactly the same cloth as Lance and yet she’d still fallen for him. Perhaps it was because he reminded her so much of Lance when he was younger and in his prime. It was heartbreaking for her to admit this, but Tyler had made this year worthwhile. Without their illicit trysts to look forward to, she didn’t know how she would have managed her empty life. Lance hadn’t made love to her in years and it was a horrible thing to know that she had to turn to strangers for affection, no matter how fleeting. Despite his not-so-hidden agenda, Tyler had made her feel attractive, wanted once more.
Well, this time, she’d been the one who got burned. That was the price you had to pay for playing outside the rules. And, God, the pain seared through her. It was enough to make her turn to drink herself.
Still, she couldn’t sit here all night. Lance would be waiting for her. There was no doubt he needed her. In his own way, he adored her. It just wasn’t in the way that she wanted him to.
Straightening her back, she held up her head and let herself out of the cubicle. In the powder room there were about six girls, all in their best party dresses, chattering away. They flicked blusher on cheeks that didn’t need it and slicked layers of lip gloss on to their full, plump mouths. Melissa smiled to herself. They were all bright young things and she hoped they’d make better choices in their lives than she had. There was so much to play for at their age.
One girl smiled tentatively at her. ‘Are you OK?’ she asked. ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’
She wanted a friend, someone to understand what she was going through. This girl was probably talking about a drink of water or bringing her a chair. If only she knew.
‘I could get you some tea or something?’ she prompted.
It would be nice to have someone to sit quietly with for five minutes while she gathered her wits, perhaps have a soothing cup of tea as she suggested, but Melissa didn’t want to be drawn into conversation. Not now when she couldn’t trust her own voice. ‘No, thank you. It’s kind of you to ask, but I’m fine. Really.’
‘Are you sure?’
Melissa nodded. ‘Yes. It’s just been a very long evening.’
The girl, not looking terribly convinced, smiled and turned away. Her thoughtfulness nearly had Melissa in tears again.
Instead, she turned away from the other women and fixed her own make-up, repairing the ravages of her tears. With a deep breath, she faced herself in the mirror. In the low, softfocus lighting, she could make believe that she was ten years younger. As long as she ignored the dull ache deep in her bones that told her otherwise.
Back in the marquee, the music was blaring out, a pointless, relentless, pounding beat. They should go home now or it would give her a pounding headache to match. The mood for partying had long since gone.
Lance was still slumped on the chair where she’d left him. The detritus of the party surrounded him – spent crackers, party poppers, tatters of Merry Christmas to One and All napkins. In the midst of it all she spied the penknife that had been in Kirsten’s cracker. She must, at some point, have dropped it on the floor. That could be dangerous. So Melissa bent and picked it up, popping it into her own purse.
‘Hello, honey,’ she said, slipping into the seat next to her husband. Had he even noticed she’d been gone? ‘How are you feeling?’
His voice when he answered was slurred. ‘Fine, angel.’
He was completely gone now. His eyes had entirely lost their focus and there was a bottle of bourbon at his elbow which was virtually empty.
‘We should leave, honey,’ she said. ‘Shall I go and find Martin?’
‘Everyone’s still partying.’ Lance waved a hand in the general direction of the dance floor.
It certainly was full. All the staff were crowded together, having clearly decided to make the best of what had surely been their most memorable Christmas party. She felt so very sorry for them. What would the new year bring for some of the people who’d simply done their best to do a good job? How would they all pick themselves up and start again?
‘I should stay until the end,’ Lance said.
Like a captain going down with his sinking ship, Melissa thought. Lance was lucky that the staff had chosen to drown their sorrows rather than lynch him.
‘They can manage without you,’ she cajoled. ‘You stay here. I’ll get the car.’
Lance caught her hand. ‘I love you,’ he said. For a flickering moment, his eyes were lucid. ‘Do I tell you enough?’
This wasn’t the time to raise her concerns, to tell him that her life was empty, that she was nothing but a bitter shell. But when was it?
She kissed his forehead. ‘You tell me all the time, honey.’
Lance reached for the bourbon bottle and squeezed the last drop of it into his glass. If she brought him another bottle now, she was sure he’d drink that too.
‘Good,’ he said. ‘Anything to keep my angel happy.’
Melissa pinned a smile on her face. ‘I’ll be back soon.’ She kissed him again and went to look for Martin.
And fought the urge to just keep walking, walking, walking and never stop.
Chapter Thirty-two
‘I couldn’t find Mrs Benson anywhere,’ I tell Josh when I return to the library. ‘I don’t know where she’s gone.’
I’ve looked high and low, everywhere in Wadestone Manor, to try to find Tyler’s wife to explain to her that it wasn’t, in fact, her husband that she saw me kissing. But to no avail.
I shake my head, cross at myself. What a silly mistake that was.
Seriously, I tried every room I could think of, but couldn’t see her anywhere. I heard someone crying in the ladies’ loos and wondered if it might be Kirsten Benson. But before I could say anything, the chairman’s wife came out. She was red-eyed, blotchy-faced and clearly very upset.
I wanted to say something to comfort her, but what can you say to someone like that? All I could do was offer her a cuppa and a bit of a sit-down. Sometimes that can do the trick, but she wasn’t interested in my tea and sympathy.
We’ve never been introduced, so she doesn’t have a clue who I am. I’ve previously only caught a few glimpses of her at the office, but she always looked so groomed, so in control. The cut of her clothes and the scent she wears both shout money. One day, I’d love to be like her. She’s a woman who is obviously in charge of her destiny. She wouldn’t put up with rubbish from the likes of Tyler Benson. Melissa Harvey is legendary at Fossil Oil for her coolness. I wonder what’s happened to make her so awfully distressed?
I tried to see if she wanted to talk or needed any help, but she pretty much blanked me – and who could blame her? I’m only an
office minion. She’s so far above my station that I didn’t really feel I could push it any further, but it was horrible to see her looking so miserable and alone.
Instead I decided to mind my own business and press on. I needed to find Kirsten Benson before she found Tyler. And, of course, failed. What a mess.
‘Tyler has asked to meet me here,’ I tell Josh.
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know. He seemed to be all in a lather. Sounded like some kind of emergency.’ It will only get worse when he realises what’s happened. ‘It’s probably a good idea if you’re not around.’
‘You don’t want me for back-up?’
‘No. I can handle this.’ If I’m honest, I don’t want Tyler to see us closeted in here and put two and two together. He’d definitely make five out of it and that would seriously harm my credibility in his eyes. I should never have got myself into this situation with Josh. I need this job and, whatever happens, I’ve got to keep Tyler onside.
Josh touches my arm and, for one moment, I think that it would be nice to have him here, supporting me. In the little time I’ve known him, he seems like such a strong and reliable person. But then again, I don’t want Tyler to think I’m weak. It’s fair to say that I’m in a right quandary.
‘Perhaps I’ll catch up with you later,’ I tell him.
He looks at me sadly. ‘If that’s what you want.’
I nod.
‘You’re a great woman, Louise,’ he says. ‘Really great. Don’t let Tyler put you down.’
‘I’ll be fine, really.’
‘Promise you’ll call me if he steps out of line.’
‘I will. But now you’d better go.’
So, with obvious reluctance, he leaves.
The fire has burned low and it’s chillier in here, but the log basket on the hearth is empty. I rub my arms to keep me warm and pace up and down on the rug. How am I going to break the news to Tyler of his wife’s mistaken identity? He’s not going to be a happy bunny, to say the very least. I might be wrong, but I get the impression that their relationship is on a bit of a knife edge, and this isn’t going to help.
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