A Hidden Affair

by Pam Jenoff

  “Jo?” he says now, tearing me from my thoughts. I look up. “Where were you?”

  “Nowhere,” I reply. The memory seems overly sentimental to share. He might not even remember.

  “Happy belated birthday, by the way,” Jared says.

  “Thanks,” I reply, surprised that he remembered. My thirty-second birthday, May 3, had passed in London nearly two weeks earlier, sandwiched in between my confrontation with Sebastian at Embankment, at which he took his own life, and Mo’s revelation about the scheme to get me to London a few days later. I spent the day at Chris’s hospital bedside as he struggled to recover from the gunshot wound I’d inflicted upon him, reminded only by an unanswered call from my parents offering birthday wishes and a card from Sarah.

  I walk across the cottage to the washroom to change and when I return, Jared is on the larger futon sprawling, as he used to, on his side, one arm propped beneath his head. I lie down on the other bed.

  “Sleepy?” he asks. I shake my head. “Me either. I could read to you if you want.”

  I cannot tell if he is joking. “That’s okay, thanks.” Somehow bringing that here, as if the years had not passed and nothing had changed, seems a mockery. And where would we begin, where we left off a decade ago or at the beginning of the book? Or would we read something else entirely? I am suddenly mindful of the short distance across the tiny room. I don’t know which part is more surreal, the fact that I am sitting here talking to Jared, or that we are alone and cannot be together.

  “It’s strange, isn’t it, Jo?” he asks, reading my mind as he used to. “Us being here, I mean?”

  I draw my knees into my chest. “It’s like that game we played as kids, Spend A Day With Anyone.”

  He stares at me blankly. “Never heard of it.”

  Of course not. There are differences, I realize, always have been. Despite the bond that once existed between us, there were certain things that never quite synced up, things that I could not write off as simply cultural. Once, at college, I had run to him, devastated by a call I’d received from my parents with the news that my beloved childhood collie, Ranger, had died. Jared tried to be sympathetic, but to him pets were just animals and in the end he could not comprehend the depth of my grief for a dog that had been my closest companion in the absence of a sibling. No, he does not totally understand me, never did—nor I him. How, for example, can he allow his own mother to believe that he is dead?

  Of course, it’s impossible for anyone to be completely understood. In the end, no matter how many people we surround ourselves with, each of us stands alone. I learned that years ago after I thought Jared had died: no one was sticking around but me. And so I simply stopped trying.

  Jared is still staring at me across the room, waiting for an explanation. “It was a game we played as children. We would ask one another, ‘If you could spend a day with any person in the history of the world, living or dead, who would it be?’ and sometimes we would talk about what we would do with the person, how we would spend the day.”

  “Who did you pick?”

  I laugh. “Oh, I don’t remember, really. Sometimes it would be some movie star I had a crush on, or a historical figure I was reading about. Or my gran, after she died. The point is, tonight reminds me of that game.” I swallow. “Because all of these years, if someone had asked me the question, the person I would have wanted to spend the day with would have been you.”

  He smiles and for a second I wonder if he thinks I am foolish. “I get it. I’ve imagined so many times since I’ve been gone what it would be like to go home just for a day. I’m not sure that this is how I would choose to spend it, though.”

  A knife twists in my stomach. “No?”

  “There are lots of things I’d like to do again, of course, hug my mum, kick a football with Chris and the boys. But if I only got one choice, I would want to spend the day with you.” Is he just being nice, I wonder? No, Jared never did anything just to be nice. He means it, I decide, the wound ebbing slightly. “But we wouldn’t spend it lying on opposite sides of the room,” he adds.

  I swallow hard over the lump that has formed in my throat. An awkward silence passes between us and I can tell he is thinking of the nights spent in our college beds, bodies pressed close. Until now, I’d been so caught up in the emotion of seeing Jared again that I’d been ignoring the magnetic attraction that still exists between us. But it is here again, as real and raw as a decade ago. I shiver.

  “Are you cold?” he asks. I shake my head, but he stands and pulls something from a wicker trunk then crosses the room to me. “Here,” he says, laying the blanket at the foot of the bed. “I’ve gotten so used to the weather here that I can sometimes forget how the temperatures shift. It can really drop at night.” He covers me with the blanket, then sits on the edge of the bed. His brow furrows. “You’re flushed.” He brings his hand to my brow and I close my eyes, trying not to tremble at his cool, familiar touch.

  “I got too much sun today, that’s all.” I look up. Jared’s face is just inches from mine. What would happen if I kissed him right now? Would he respond or refuse? I close my eyes again, not leaning toward him or away, unwilling to move things in either direction, but letting the moment carry me.

  Another second passes. He clears his throat and when I open my eyes, he has pulled back, a tortured expression on his face. He stands and walks quickly from the room and I wonder if he is angry, whether he will sleep elsewhere.

  But a minute later he returns and hands me a jar. “It’s a cream that the locals swear by. Nicole puts it on Noah when he’s had too much sun.”

  Nicole. Noah. Suddenly they are in the room with us and the moment of intimacy has passed. Struggling to breathe normally, I put some of the lotion on my nose and cheeks, feeling the coolness soothe my burn as Jared lies down again on his own bed, his shadow long in the dim light.

  “I wanted to kiss you just then,” he says finally, a man giving his confession. “More than almost anything in my life.”

  I wanted it, too, I think, but I do not say this. Part of me desperately wishes that he had given in and we lived this one and only moment of reunion time had given us. That I was the kind of woman who could let go of her principles long enough to be in the moment and seize this opportunity of fate. Surely it could have been forgiven, understood. But another part is glad we had not. Despite the passage of the years, the fact that he has gone on and married, my memories of Jared are intact, pure. An illicit kiss, maybe more, stolen in his wife’s absence, would just taint what we once had, a tidal wave of regret that would surely dwarf the brief satisfaction of once again having him. And no matter how magical the moment might be, the sun would come up and Nicole would return, claiming him for her own. Nicole. What does it say about his feelings for her that he wanted to kiss me? What does it mean that he did not?

  He clears his throat. “You and Aaron, is it serious?”

  I turn to look at him. I had not said anything about becoming involved with Ari. But I shouldn’t be surprised—Jared had always been able to see right through me. Suddenly I am indignant—this is none of his concern, not now. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

  He rolls away, not speaking further. Is he angry? As I curl up on the mattress, I consider apologizing. I never handled our disagreements at college well and would often say that I was sorry, even when I wasn’t sure I was wrong. But I’m not that girl anymore and I can’t bring myself to apologize simply to avoid a fight.

  “Jared . . . ” I say. But there is no response. He’s asleep, or pretending to be anyway, I think, remembering the way he used to prowl Cambridge restlessly long after the streets had gone silent and dark. As I listen to the sound of his long, even breathing just feet away, a cold emptiness opens inside me, threatening to swallow me whole. I’m lonely, I realize. But not for Jared. I miss Ari.

  Confused, I push the thoughts from my mind and gaze at Jared once more. Part of me wants to watch him all night, savoring these last few hour
s before morning comes and I have to leave him again. At last my eyelids grow heavy until I can fight closing them no longer, drifting off to a dreamless sleep.

  Sometime later I open my eyes slowly, blinking against the sunlight that bounces blindingly off the white walls. For a second I cannot remember where I am. Jared and Nicole’s cottage, I think, as the events of the night before come rushing back: my long conversation with Jared, our almost kiss. The fact that he and Nicole have a son.

  I glance across the room, expecting to see Jared asleep. But the larger futon is empty, the sheets neatly made. He is gone, up and out before I awake, just like he always was at college.

  A clattering sound comes from the other room. I stand and change quickly from Jared’s sweatshirt back to my own clothes. As I walk from the bedroom, I smooth my hair.

  Jared is by the stove. “Good morning,” he says brightly, as though there is nothing unusual about my waking here. “Sleep well?”

  “Very.” I drop to a chair at the kitchen table, accepting the cup of coffee he offers. I did sleep soundly, atypical for me in a strange place. “It’s the salt air,” he says, echoing Ari’s comment on the boat. But I know it was more than that. Jared’s presence, his slow, even breathing, was like a protective blanket that comforted me in a way that few things in life ever had—even from across the room after all of these years.

  As he turns back to the stove, a phone I had not noticed hanging in the corner rings. I am surprised; I had not expected the remote cottage to have a land line. Jared goes to it. “Hello? No, she isn’t.” His eyes dart back and forth as he listens to the voice on the other end. “What?” His voice rises. “Now, you wait . . . ” He pulls the phone away from his ear and stares at it in disbelief, his face paling. A second later the receiver drops from his hand, clattering to the floor.

  “What is it?” I ask. “What’s wrong?”

  “They’ve taken Noah,” he says, his voice barely a whisper.

  “I don’t understand.” But even as I say this, my heart sinks. “Who?”

  “It’s the men who bought the wine from Nicole. They have our son. And if we don’t give them what they want, they’re going to kill him.”

  chapter EIGHTEEN

  I AM UNABLE TO breathe over the rock that has formed in my throat. “Are you sure?” I manage. “Maybe it’s a bluff.”

  He shakes his head. “I could hear Noah in the background. I recognized his voice.” There are tears in his eyes, something I have never seen before.

  “How did they get him?”

  “I don’t know, I don’t know.” He paces frantically back and forth in front of me, a tiger caged. “We sent him to stay with friends because we thought he’d be safe there. They’re good people and we’d trust them with our lives, but why wouldn’t they have called if . . . ?” He stops, then picks up the phone again, punches the buttons hurriedly. “No answer,” he says after several seconds, hanging it up. “Oh God, they’re probably dead.” He is close to hysterical now. “Dammit, I told Nicole—”

  “But Nicole is selling the wine so she can repay them.”

  “The man said they aren’t interested in money. They want the wine.”

  “It doesn’t make sense,” I say, my mind racing. “Why wouldn’t they just take the money?”

  “It doesn’t matter why.” He stops and turns squarely to face me. “We have to find Noah.”

  We. I am suddenly in much deeper than I anticipated. I don’t have to help, I realize. I found Jared, accomplished what I set out to do. I could say no, head back to Ari. But a child is in danger and I cannot walk away. And it’s not just any child—this is Jared’s son.

  I look up at Jared, who is watching me with the same desperate expression he wore a decade ago. Only this time I can do something. “All right,” I say, forcing strength into my voice. I put my hand on his arm, soothing him as I would have back then. It is my turn to be strong again for both of us. “We need to stay calm and think about this clearly. Who was on the phone?”

  “I don’t know. It wasn’t a voice I’ve ever heard before, but then again, Nicole doesn’t include me in all of her business dealings. He had an accent of some kind.”

  “Tell me everything he said.”

  Jared resumes his pacing. “He said that Nicole is to get the wine and bring it to Keri harbor in two hours. If not, they’re going to . . . ” He does not finish the sentence.

  “Can you call her?” I ask.

  He runs his hands through his hair. “Maybe.” He picks up the phone again and dials. “Dammit, Nicole,” he swears under his breath in a way that suggests he’s been unable to reach her before. “I don’t know if she could make it back in time anyway.”

  “Do you know where the wine is?”

  He nods. “In a cave by the water.”

  “Is it far from here?”

  “Not very. We can’t drive there, though, and it’s about a forty-five-minute walk.”

  “What about the boat?”

  “Quicker, but the waters around the cave get too choppy at high tide for a dinghy like that. No, the only way is on foot.”

  “Then we should get started.”

  “But the man said it had to be Nicole and that she has to come alone.”

  My mind races. “Has Santini ever met Nicole?”

  “I don’t think so. Her dealings with him have all been by phone.”

  Except in Vienna, I think, remembering Santini’s man who fled the apartment there, Nicole bloodstained and holding the knife. Of course Jared doesn’t know about that, either. “So I can be Nicole,” I say. “If they’ve never met her before, they won’t be able to tell the difference.” I do not mention the Vienna encounter to Jared, knowing it will feed his doubts about our best—and only—option. “I don’t suppose there’s anywhere to get a blond wig?”

  Through his panic, he shoots me his most exasperated look, the one he always saved for times when he thought I was being truly ridiculous. “What do you think?”

  “Maybe a bottle of peroxide, then.” Jared’s expression remains unconvinced. “I know, I look nothing like Nicole. But if I get there and give them the wine, perhaps they won’t check too closely, or care. Anyway, what other choice do we have?”

  I watch him searching for a better plan and finding none. “Fine,” he says at last. “There’s peroxide in the medicine cabinet. But hurry. We don’t have a lot of time.”

  Ten minutes later I emerge from the bathroom, combing my freshly bleached hair. Jared stands at the kitchen sink, filling a canteen with water. “I always wondered what I’d look like as a blonde,” I quip, trying to ease his terror, but he stares at me blankly, not responding.

  I walk to him. “You’re scared, and nothing I say is going to change that. But it’s going to be okay. I’m trained for this, Jared.” His eyes widen as I pull my gun from my bag and tuck it into my waistband, reminding me that I am not the same girl he knew a decade ago. “This is what I do.” Even as I say this, though, doubts creep into my mind. I have no idea what I am walking into, how many will be waiting for me. Going in alone is foolish, but I don’t have a choice. If only Ari was here. “Just tell me how to get to the caves.”

  “We’ll go together. I’m taking you there and then to the harbor.”

  “But they said Nicole had to come alone.”

  “I can hide out of sight,” he presses, unrelenting.

  “No good, Jared. I’ve seen this sort of thing before. They could have someone watching me to make sure I’m not followed. You need to let me go by myself.”

  “No,” he insists. “I have to—”

  “What you have to do is trust me,” I say, cutting him off. “Let me do this for you. Let me help.” The way I couldn’t years ago, I finish silently. “We’re wasting time,” I add.

  I can see him wrestling with what I have said, realizing I am right but not wanting to admit it. “All right,” he relents. “I’ll get you close enough, then let you go the rest of the way on your own.”
/>
  I hesitate, wanting him to wait here but knowing he will concede no further. “Okay.”

  I follow him outside to a path that leads farther up the rocky hillside behind the cottage, ascending away from the sea. “I thought the cave was by the water,” I remark.

  “It is. But it’s a good distance down the coast from here and Nicole said the quickest way is over the hills.”

  “You’ve never been there?”

  “No, like I said, Nicole didn’t involve me in her work. But she described the location, pointed to it from a distance once when we were sailing. I can find it.” There is a slight waver in his voice. “Goddammit, how could I . . . ” He does not finish the sentence but curses himself silently for letting Noah out of his sight, for not being able to keep him safe.

  “Tell me about the caves,” I say as we walk, trying to distract him from his terror.

  I can tell by his face that he is not fooled. “These particular caves were used by the locals as bomb shelters during the early years of the war,” he says, playing along. “Later, by the Resistance. They used the caves as hiding places and to store munitions—and wine.” I nod, remembering that Ari had said the same thing about the cellars in France. “Not just the Cerfberre Bordeaux. They hid lots of wine from the Nazis and used it to trade for things that they needed.”

  We continue up the hill, neither speaking for several minutes. We pass the ruins of an old church, crumbling stone walls rising to a nonexistent roof, steeple still rising defiantly against the clear blue sky.

  I brush my hair back from my eyes for the hundredth time. The midmorning sun beats down, hardening the recently muddy earth into craggy fossil. Jared moves quickly in front of me and I struggle to match his long-legged strides and keep up. Sweat runs down my neck, pooling beneath my T-shirt. “Here.” He hands the canteen of water back to me, not stopping. I wonder if he has noticed how hard I am breathing, but he stares straight ahead, fixated only on finding his son.