A Time for Friends

by Patricia Scanlan

  ‘That’s nice. Great news. She did tell me that she’d see me. Thanks, Encarna. I’ll be fine. You head home.’ He unbuttoned his coat and unwound the scarf from around his neck and sat in the empty silence. He heard the housekeeper gathering her things, call a subdued goodbye, and then the door closed and Des felt more alone and unnerved than he had ever felt in his entire life. Weariness enveloped him. He should try and catch up on his work, he supposed, but he couldn’t face it.

  Colette was a tough cookie; he’d always known that. But he’d certainly underestimated her. There was a cold, hard side to her that he’d seen her use to good effect throughout their marriage. He’d seen her cut people who had offended her out of her life. The guillotine effect, he’d called it. He had never believed he would be suffering the same fate. A thought struck him and he stood up and hurried into his walk-in dressing room and switched on the light. He parted his suits hanging on the rail, and slid back the false panel to reveal a safe. He twisted the dial. Even before the door swung open he knew the gold was gone. Colette had taken her pound of flesh and then some.

  His mouth felt dry and he made his way to the kitchen fridge to get a can of cold tonic. He cracked it and took a slug and noticed an envelope propped up on the counter with his name on it, written in his wife’s flamboyant script.

  ‘What new hell?’ he muttered, opening the envelope warily, sliding out a torn document. ‘Aw crap!’ he swore. No wonder Colette had cleaned him out. He’d forgotten about the damn loan application. She must have found it in his briefcase. A small yellow Post-it fluttered to the ground. He picked it up.

  The Deal Breaker was written on it in Colette’s usual flourish. He knew what she was saying. Not Kaylee, and not even Madoff, would have split them up. She would have dealt with those. But trying to lure her into signing over the apartment was a step too far. No wonder she wanted a divorce. How could he blame her? But she hadn’t gone quietly into the night. Not Colette. She had been as ruthless and calculating as he had ever been. The guillotine had fallen and how.

  ‘Nice one, honey.’ Des raised his drink to his absent wife.

  He wondered if she would get the gold unchecked through Customs. All might not yet be lost. If she were caught bringing out more than the allowance, she’d have to leave it Stateside and pay a fine as well. He wondered what flight she was on. Had she left? Was there any point in ringing Customs in JFK and alerting them? His thoughts darted here and there.

  ‘Ah hell, she’s probably long gone,’ he said aloud. She’d left the apartment the previous day and probably caught a red-eye to London. Colette didn’t like hanging around when she had somewhere to go. And it seemed that she couldn’t shake the dust of NYC off her feet quick enough. She was probably in the UK right this minute fighting jet lag.

  Exhausted, he took off his coat and scarf and left them draped over the bar counter and walked back into the den. He lay down on the sofa wishing he was back in Lennox Hill with nothing to worry him, only what meal to select from the menu and what TV channel to watch. Had Colette told Jasmine about the ‘Deal Breaker’? Would he look into his daughter’s eyes when she came back from Boston later and see disgust and derision? His daughter had taken the news of the affair reasonably calmly. Affairs were commonplace in their circle. She had grown up hearing about this marriage or that one breaking up. But attempted deliberate fraud perpetrated against your mother was another matter entirely, and as she had made clear, Colette would never forgive him for that. And if Jasmine knew about it, he was sure to get plenty of flack from her. A prospect he did not relish.

  His eyelids drooped. He was drained after all the unsettling trauma and being back out in the real world again. Des drifted off to sleep and only awoke when faded dusk had settled on the city and the room was dark and still. He had never felt more alone.

  ‘Thank you, that’s lovely, very chic!’ Colette approved, loving the subtle tones of her new golden-honey shade. ‘Wonderful cut.’

  ‘It’s a very good colour on you, Mrs Williams,’ the stylist complimented, holding the mirror this way and that so that she could view her new style from every angle. Colette stared at the reflection of her immaculately made-up face, framed by her newly cut and coloured hair, and had to admit no one would guess that she was going through a life-changing trauma that had knocked her for six. She looked like a woman in her late thirties, she approved signing her name and room number and making sure she gave a generous tip, seeing as Des was paying.

  ‘Thank you so much. I do hope we see you again,’ came the gracious response.

  ‘I hope so too,’ Colette said brightly, thinking it might be a very long time before she could afford to stay in the Plaza and indulge herself in their luxurious salon. And indulge herself she had, she reflected, taking the elevator to her suite with the view of the Park. She’d been in the salon for hours. Colour, conditioning and cut for her hair, waxing, manicure and pedicure, tinting of eyebrows and lashes, and a makeup. The previous evening she’d had a full body massage and an hour’s facial. Colette looked at her diamond-studded watch. She’d want to be getting a move on. It would be time to leave for JFK in another hour or so. She wanted to eat something light. It was a shame to waste her makeover eating alone in her room but there was every likelihood she might meet some society matron she knew in the intimate setting of the Champagne Bar and even though she loved the over-the-top decadence of the Palm Court, it would make her too sad to eat alone there and the last thing she wanted was snotty tears ruining her make-up. It was too cold to take a last stroll up to the Tavern on the Green, one of her favourite New York eateries. And that would make her feel sad too. She, Des and Jazzy had often eaten brunch there on Sundays, after a walk through the Park. She had always felt the restaurant was the very essence of New York. No, she couldn’t go there. It would be way too melancholy. Best to eat in her room, Colette decided.

  Dusk was falling over Central Park and she stared out greedily at the city she loved, trying to imprint it all on her mind. Two lovers kissed at the Pulitzer Fountain, a teenager munched on a hot dog, swaying to the music coming out of his headphones. A child pointed to an enormous Santa in a shop window. The gay, giddy garishness of the Christmas lights and decorations made her feel lonely and bereft. She and Des had brought Jazzy to FAO Schwarz, across on Fifth, every year. Then they would come here to the Plaza for dinner and Jazzy would demand to be told the story of the delightfully precocious Eloise, who was such an intrinsic part of the fabric of the iconic hotel.

  Colette was happy then, and she hadn’t known it. Those early years in New York had been the best of her life. She and Des had been united in their goals. They’d looked out for each other, delighting in each other’s success. He had introduced her to people who had become her clients in the gallery and she had introduced people from her circle to him, and they had become his clients. There had been a lot of good times in their marriage, she thought, surprised. But now that life was over and she was leaving the city that had given her so much.

  ‘Stop it! Buck up!’ she told herself, flicking thorough the room service menu. She settled on the lobster salad. That would be filling enough but not too stodgy and she would just graze on the flight. She wondered was Des home yet and how had he felt when he’d seen that she’d looted the apartment. Sauce for the goose! Not a wonderful homecoming for someone who was only a few days after surgery but at least Encarna would have been there to greet him. Would he be able to continue to employ their housekeeper? How long would he stay in the apartment? How much exactly of their savings had he lost? So many questions for which she had no answers. Colette had never seen her husband so shaken. Part of her felt concern for him. She wasn’t a total Borg. But her overwhelming feeling towards Des was rage. Anger with him that he had brought them to this was even stronger than the deep hurt that he would deceive her in so many ways.

  She stared out of the window into the darkening night as the lights became brighter and the skyscrapers looked even more imposing
than in daylight. Thank God Jazzy had finished university, Colette thought gratefully. Their daughter had received a fine, Ivy League education and she would be a wealthy young woman eventually. Jacqueline had told Colette that she and Frank had left a trust fund for their only grandchild. Jazzy would be well provided for. What would happen to Des and how he would fare she did not know, or, right now, care. For herself, she had ensured that she had sufficient funds to keep her in a reasonable lifestyle for a couple of years. The paintings, antiques and furniture acquired over the almost two decades they had lived in Manhattan – and the recently acquired gold – would liquidate into at least a quarter of a million sterling. Enough to keep her going for a while, but not enough to fund the type of lifestyle she’d been used to. From now on she’d have to rein in her spending. Something she’d never before had to do.

  Colette ate her salad without tasting it, so consumed was she by the thoughts racing through her mind. She did not welcome this new aloneness. She’d always liked the feeling that she had someone at her back. Now she was dependent on herself. Returning to London to live would be a real cutting of the ties but it had to be done. She went to the desk at the window overlooking Fifth Avenue, and picked up a pile of neatly addressed envelopes. They were handwritten notes of farewell, and several of resignation from her various committees and boards. She had spent an hour after she’d arrived at the hotel the previous day going through her Rolodex and Filofax to make sure she didn’t leave anyone out. She had merely said that she was relocating to London for family reasons. Let them speculate as to the whys and wherefores; she wouldn’t be seeing most of them again. To meet any of her American friends and acquaintances face to face, now that her circumstances had changed so radically, would be a humiliation too far.

  Pride stiffened her resolve. It was time to go. There was no point in procrastinating. A chapter of her life had ended and a new one was beginning. If the absolute worst came to the worst she could sell the flat in London and return home to Dublin. But that would only be if she was in dire straits. Her parents were getting old and they were beginning to show their age. A nursemaid she would not be. Frank and Jacqueline had salted away enough to have a very affluent old age. They could pay for a carer if they needed one. Colette felt another sudden surge of anger towards Des. It was unthinkable that she would even consider returning to Ireland to live, if she couldn’t hack it in London. No! She would not run home to Mummy and Daddy like some little wimp. She had more pride than that. She would make a go of life on her own.

  She checked her travel bag for her passport and travel documents. The neat Tiffany’s box in which she had placed the dinky, one-ounce bars of gold nestled at the bottom of her bag. Would she be stopped at security or Customs and Excise? Not that it mattered. She was legally entitled to take the amount she carried in her bag. It was the stash hidden in the drawer of the pedestal desk, which was now in the container heading for London, that could cause problems if it was discovered. Or it could be stolen! But she wouldn’t think about that now. She had enough to contend with for the moment. She rang down to order her car and asked for a bellboy to be sent up, before wrapping her fur around her and pulling on her kid leather gloves. ‘Goodbye, New York,’ she murmured when the bellboy knocked on the door. ‘I’ll see you in the spring.’

  ‘Omigod, Dad! The place is so weird!’ Jazzy exclaimed, standing in the foyer, gazing around her in dismay.

  ‘Your mother’s revenge.’ Des gave a wry smile.

  ‘Oh! I suppose. It’s a very Mom thing to do,’ Jazzy sighed, dropping her overnight bag and giving him a hug.

  ‘It’s good to see you, Pippin!’ He hugged her back, feeling a deep gratitude that Colette had obviously not told their daughter about the ‘Deal Breaker’ episode. He was delighted to see her, glad that she would bring some life back into the place that had once been their home.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ She followed him into the kitchen.

  ‘Tired! Worried! Sad! Take your pick,’ Des grimaced. ‘Encarna left a fish chowder, and lamb tagine and couscous for us. Are you hungry?’

  ‘For Encarna’s cooking, always!’ Jazzy said with fake enthusiasm. She was afraid to go into the other rooms to see what Colette had absconded with. She had hoped that, when her mother had calmed down after spending Christmas in London, she would miss her life in New York and come back. Colette’s actions made it clear no such return was on the cards and Jazzy realized with a deep sense of foreboding that her parents’ marriage was well and truly over, and the lifestyle she had taken so much for granted was a thing of the past. Unable to hide her dismay and distress, she burst into tears.

  ‘Jazzy, don’t cry,’ Des pleaded, putting his arms around her.

  ‘Lots of women get over their husband having an affair,’ she sobbed. ‘It happens all the time. Why did she have to leave?’

  ‘Mom is the kind of woman who takes no prisoners, you know that,’ he said gently. ‘Perhaps there’ll come a time when she’ll forgive me. And if you want to go to London to be with her for Christmas I’ll understand perfectly and I’ll pay for your flight,’ he offered generously.

  ‘Thanks, Dad, but I think I’ll stay here. Jackson and I have been invited to a lot of parties and it will be my first Christmas with him, even if it has been spoilt,’ she sniffed. ‘Why, Dad? Why did you reach out to another woman?’

  ‘Look, these things happen in a marriage. You get bored. You feel you’re being neglected. Your mother was always very busy with the gallery—’

  ‘And with entertaining your colleagues too,’ Jazzy cut in sharply.

  ‘Yes, that too,’ Des sighed. ‘The opportunity was there and I took it and I shouldn’t have.’

  ‘No, you shouldn’t have. Poor Mom going to England alone. What a horrible Christmas she’s going to have,’ Jazzy bit her lip.

  ‘I know that. If you change your mind about going, let me know,’ her father said dispiritedly, wondering where were the bowls Encarna usually served their chowder in. He’d better start finding his way around his own kitchen. He would be putting Encarna on a three-day week, mornings only. After New Year he would have to take a serious look at his finances and discreetly begin the search for a smaller apartment, in a less exclusive district of the city. If this year had turned out a bummer next year looked as though it was going to be even worse. Listening to his daughter’s stifled sobs, Des felt like bursting into tears himself.

  The comfort of walking into a warm, freshly painted, spotlessly clean apartment almost made up for the incredibly bumpy flight and the scary descent into Heathrow, when crosswinds buffeted the plane. Colette gazed around the familiar lounge with the big window looking out onto the elegant square and burst into tears. She flung herself down on the sofa and sobbed like a baby as all the exhaustion and shock of the past two weeks overcame her, and she cried until she was limp and drained and could cry no more. She had planned not to go to bed, hoping to have slept on the overnight flight, but even in the comfort of first-class it had been too bumpy to be relaxing and she had felt quite tense. Now though she was exhausted, too tired even to make herself a cup of tea.

  She went down to the master bedroom and burst into fresh tears realizing that Des would never sleep on his side of the outsize bed again, and that she was now a woman alone. She switched on the electric blanket, got undressed, and wrapped a robe around her while she cleansed, toned and moisturized. Not even the greatest crisis of her life would disrupt her bedtime beauty routine.

  It was raining outside, drumming against the window, and the skies were dreary with ominous clouds. It was a relief to slip into the warmth of her luxurious soft sheets, and to pull the duvet up to her chin, knowing that she had a day and a night to recover before she had to face the realities of her situation and set about arranging meetings with lawyers and her bosses in Dickon and Austen’s.

  Colette had thought that she would toss and turn but she fell asleep almost instantly and slept through the day, not waking until 4.30 that a
fternoon. Hunger gnawed at her and she pulled on a robe and padded out to the kitchen. It was dark already, and the view was so different from the one from her apartment in New York. It would take time to adjust to this life-changing move. Had she been too hasty? she wondered apprehensively, staring at the changed skyline. It was still raining and she closed the blinds to shut out the wintry night.

  She had emailed a list of groceries and requirements to her maintenance firm, and the fridge was well stocked. She heated some soup, and ate it with granary bread and Cheddar. A rare treat for someone who stayed away from carbs and dairy. She left the dishes in the sink and went back to bed and flicked on Sky News. A reporter was commenting on plans for Obama’s forthcoming inauguration, flashing up images of Washington and Capitol Hill and for a surreal moment Colette felt she was back in the States. She switched the TV off and burst into tears.

  She and Des had been invited to celebrate and view the historic occasion at a soirée to be thrown by the McLean-Butlers, at their Park Ave residence. They had got to know the affluent power couple in Nantucket over the years and had become friendly. Michelle McLean-Butler had bought several pieces from the gallery and Colette had made sure to give her a discount each time, knowing that she would bring other clients through word of mouth. Colette liked Michelle, who didn’t give a hoot about what people thought, which was quite refreshing in the society circles they moved in. Michelle was one of the few she would miss.

  Now that she was truly on her own, she felt unnerved, apprehensive even. Had she done the right thing, leaving New York? Leaving Jazzy? She was right to leave Des, of that she had no doubts. It was so long since she’d lived in London – everyone she’d known would have moved on, forgotten her even. It was daunting to think that she’d practically have to start all over again. Did she have the energy for it? The nerve to do it solo? It was so much easier making changes when you were young and fearless . . . or even foolish, Colette thought with a brief spark of black humour. She was middle-aged now, used to being part of a couple for so long, it was strange being alone. But here she was, by her own choice and decision; she would have to get on with it.