Promises to Keep

by Jane Green

  Steffi splutters indignantly. “First of all, I would not have an affair with a married man. Ever. And second, have I ever kept secrets from you?”

  “Yes.”

  “I have not! When?”

  “When you last had an affair with a married man.”

  “What? What are you talking about?”

  “That artist you had a thing with. Paul something. Remember? You definitely weren’t honest with me, and you never told me he was married until afterward. So, wrong on both counts. You have had an affair with a married man, and you kept it a secret from me.”

  “Jesus, Callie. It doesn’t count if you didn’t know. I had no idea he was married until we’d been dating for six weeks.”

  “How do you not know someone’s married?”

  “Because he kept his wife out in Woodstock and told her he was in New York painting at his studio all week, and he told me he was painting in his studio in Woodstock on the weekends and he had no phone because he couldn’t be disturbed, it would ruin his creativity.”

  “And you really believed that?”

  “Yes! It sounded totally credible at the time. I swear, if I’d had the slightest idea that he was married I would have had nothing to do with him. And that was the only time, and it doesn’t count because I really didn’t know.”

  “So what about Mason, then? Do you find him attractive? Come on, be honest. Because I think there’s something you’re not telling me.”

  “I really don’t. No, that’s not true. I think he’s a great guy, and there’s something about him that is attractive, but I swear to you, Cal, on my life, I am not physically attracted to him, and I am not, nor ever will be, having an affair with him. Honestly, we just like each other. As friends. His wife seems to be a bit of a bitch, and I think he comes into the restaurant because he feels comfortable with me. He can talk to me.”

  “So how come he’s giving you the house?”

  “He’s not giving it to me. It’s . . . payment, I guess, in return for looking after Fingal. And Callie, these people do not need the money. Whatever they get for renting the house, they can live without. This apartment was like nothing I’ve ever seen. She’s a Bedale, and worth gazillions. Money isn’t an issue.”

  “So when are you going to see the house?”

  “I think this weekend.”

  “Tell me you’re not driving down together, because then I’d get suspicious again.”

  “We’re not driving down together, okay? Actually, we’re really not. He said he’s going down this week to make sure it’s all cleaned up, and I’m going to hop on the train on Saturday.”

  “So if you like it, when do you move in?”

  “I’m sleeping in Susie’s spare room right now, so I’m kind of hoping I can just stay from Saturday.”

  “Did you tell Mason that?”

  “Nah, but I think he’ll be cool with it. I’ve got hardly any stuff so I’ll take a big bag, and I can always come back up and get the rest of my things once I’ve settled in.”

  Callie laughs. “I can’t believe you’re doing this. Again.”

  “What? Changing my life?”

  “Yes. In a way I’m kind of jealous. You’re such an adventurer.”

  “You’re kidding, right? You? Jealous of me? Callie Perry! You have an enviable life! Not only are you beautiful and brilliant, your husband is creative, talented and gorgeous, you have the perfect kids, you live in an amazing house, and you are loved by everyone who knows you. You have an incredible career as a photographer, and I would swap lives with you in a heartbeat.”

  “Are you trying to tell me you would sleep with my husband?” Callie asks suspiciously.

  “Wha—? Yes! Yes, I would! Okay? Happy now?”

  “No . . . Oh Christ!” Callie yelps, looking at the clock on the dashboard. “Speaking of photography, I’m supposed to be shooting someone now.”

  “Now?”

  “Fifteen minutes ago. Oh my God, I can’t believe I forgot. I love you, Steff,” she shouts as she clicks off the phone.

  “Love you too,” Steffi says, to nobody at all.

  Warm Chocolate and Banana Cake

  Ingredients

  1 cup plain baker’s chocolate

  1 cup unsalted butter, softened

  1 cup sugar

  3 eggs, beaten

  1 cup plus 2 tablespoons flour

  1 teaspoon baking powder

  2 tablespoons cocoa powder

  3 ripe bananas, mashed

  Method

  Preheat the oven to 350°F.

  Melt the chocolate over a bain-marie (or my lazy way of VERY, VERY slowly melting in a microwave).

  Cream together the butter and sugar until pale. Add the eggs gradually while beating. Stir the flour, baking powder and cocoa together and fold into the wet mixture. Add the bananas and melted chocolate. Mix well.

  Bake for 45 minutes.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Wha—?” Steffi, head thumping, attempts to open one eye as Susie stands over her proffering a mobile phone.

  “Honey? Your phone kept ringing so eventually I answered it. It’s your mom.”

  Reaching out a reluctant arm, Steffi brings the phone to her ear. One eye is half open, the other very definitely closed.

  “Mom?”

  “Darling?” Honor’s voice is loud and clear, too loud for Steffi, who winces. “You sound terrible. What on earth’s the matter? Are you sick?”

  “Just a late night,” Steffi says, thinking it best not to mention the copious amounts of drink that accompanied the late night. Oh God. And the man. What was his name? Luke. What on earth happened to him? She turns over and checks the other side of the bed. No sign of him. She could have sworn he slept over.

  “So what time should we pick you up?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Darling, I spoke to you last night, remember? Callie’s photo shoot is canceled so we’re going to come into the city to pick you up and bring you back here.”

  “Oh GOD!” Steffi sits bolt upright in bed. “I’d forgotten entirely. Jesus. What time is it?”

  “Eight-thirty.”

  “Eight-thirty? Mom! I thought it was eleven. I’m going back to sleep. We’re not meeting Mason at the house until three so we can leave here at two. I’ll see you later . . .”

  “Steffi Tollemache! We will not come at two. We will be there to pick you up at eleven, and we will find somewhere lovely to have lunch. It’s not often I get to spend the day with my two daughters, and I do intend to make this the whole day. No discussion. See you soon. I love you.”

  Steffi groans as the phone clicks, then throws the mobile to the other side of the room.

  “Suse?” she yells. “Suse?” No sign of her, so Steffi throws back the covers and goes into the living room—hair tousled, eyes still half closed, wearing a man’s pair of boxer shorts and oversize T-shirt that she somehow must have got from somewhere at some point during the night.

  “Can you wake me up at . . . oh!” She colors instantly as Susie gestures to two steaming mugs of coffee on the table.

  “Shit,” Steffi whispers in a panic, her hands flying up to her hair. “Is he still here?”

  “No.” Susie laughs. “He just left. Cute!”

  “Was he? I don’t even remember what he looked like.”

  “Yes, you do. Sandy-colored hair, messy, great smile. Preppy.”

  “Preppy?” Steffi looks horrified. “Are you sure? That’s not my type. I would never have had a fling with someone . . . preppy.”

  “Well, you did. He was preppy, and very cute. He left his number with me and made me promise to give it to you.”

  Steffi grabs the card Susie is holding and bursts out laughing. “He’s an architect! No way!”

  “You mean he’s not a struggling musician?” Susie, married to a struggling musician, raises an eyebrow.

  “Right! Or a wannabe actor, or a novelist who’s written the greatest American novel since T
om Wolfe and is waiting tables until he’s discovered . . .”

  “Or a drug addict, of course. You’ve always said those have had particular appeal for you,” Susie adds.

  “Exactly. An architect! Now that’s funny.”

  “So are you going to call him?”

  “A preppy architect?” Steffi peers at Susie closely. “Are you out of your fucking mind? Of course I’m not going to call him.” And with that she rips up his card and walks over to put it in the trash can. “Much too normal, plus I don’t even remember him.”

  “Let me remind you.” And she does, shaking her head in dismay. Then she says, “I can’t believe you’re not going to call him. He was a good guy.”

  “How many times have I told you?” Steffi laughs. “I don’t do good guys. Well okay, let me rephrase that. I might do them for a night, but I know myself. I get bored. I need a bit more excitement. And a tattoo.”

  “What?”

  “A tattoo. I’ve never dated anyone who hasn’t had at least one tattoo.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. Nor do I intend for that to change.”

  “So you now remember that architect-boy didn’t have a tattoo?”

  “I now remember. Great body, no tattoos.”

  Susie sighs. “It just seems a shame. So what did you want to ask me?”

  “I was going to ask you to wake me up before my mom gets here, but now . . . Jesus, look at the time. No point going back to sleep. Maybe I’ll sleep in the back of my sister’s car.” And picking up the cup of now-cold coffee on the table, she drains it and heads into the bathroom to take a shower.

  “Wake up, sleepyhead.” Honor turns around from the front seat. “We’re almost there.”

  “Wow!” Steffi sits up and stretches as she emits a loud groan. “That was awesome. I slept the whole way.”

  “We know.” Callie tuts. “You snored too.”

  “Sorry.” Steffi shrugs lightly and gazes at the landscape shooting past, the trees which clear every so often for a gorgeous old house or horses grazing behind a white split-rail fence.

  “This is pretty. Are we here?”

  “We decided to go to New Canaan for lunch,” says Honor. “We’re going to grab something to eat and do some shopping. Oh my!” She looks out of the window at the storefronts. “Isn’t this pretty!”

  “This is gorgeous,” Callie says. “I can’t believe I don’t come here more often, but—Oh. My. God! Steffi!”

  Steffi turns her head, and at exactly the same time they both excitedly shout, “Ralph Lauren!”

  “What?” Honor frowns.

  “My favorite store!” Callie exclaims, now jiggling up and down in the car seat with excitement. “And I never get to go!”

  “It is her favorite store,” Steffi reaffirms. “Much too preppy for me, even if I could afford it.”

  “It’s not preppy,” Callie says, and sighs. “It’s classic. Let’s find a parking spot. I have to get in there.”

  “Jeez, Callie.” Steffi starts to laugh. “Calm down. You’re like an addict needing a fix. Relax.”

  “No, seriously, I can’t relax. Did you see that patchwork coat in the window? I want it.”

  Honor looks at her daughter in amusement. “Callie! I never knew you were such a shopper.”

  “I’m not,” Callie says. “But this is Ralph Lauren, Mom! This is a whole other world.”

  Once inside, Callie becomes businesslike. A saleswoman stands just behind her, her arms piled high with clothes that Callie hands back.

  “Do you have this in a medium?” she says, or “Does this come in any other colors?”

  Honor walks over to Steffi, who is wistfully fingering a silk tunic. “Darling? Aren’t you even going to try anything on?”

  Steffi shakes her head. “There’s nothing in here for me, and anyway it’s too expensive. The only thing I quite like is that scarf, but I wouldn’t spend the money.”

  “I’ll buy it for you,” Honor says, and Steffi’s face lights up. “I’m your mother,” she adds with a smile. “It’s my job.”

  Eventually the three women leave the store laden down with bags. Callie has indeed bought piles of clothes, Steffi has a bag of her own, and even Honor found a long, cream, cashmere wrap she fell in love with.

  “I’m starving,” Steffi says. “All that shopping worked up an appetite. Can we go and get something to eat?”

  “Maybe we can find somewhere for you to work?” Callie says. “A little vegan restaurant around the corner?”

  “Doesn’t have to be vegan.” Steffi shrugs. “That would be perfection, but I’ve cooked everything before and I can certainly do it again.”

  “So you’d be happy to shove your hand up the inside of a chicken and pull out the gizzards and the liver and feel it all slimy on your hands?” Callie teases.

  “Ew!” Steffi makes a face. “God, Callie. Do you have to be so gross?”

  “Just checking to see how willing you are.”

  “You do what you have to do,” Honor interjects. “And Steffi would be fine. How about over there?” She gestures to a pretty sidewalk café with a small fenced garden and tables outside.

  “You go in. I’m just going to stand outside for a minute,” Callie says.

  “Is everything okay?” Steffi asks.

  “Just a bit of a headache coming on, and the cool air helps.”

  “Another one?” Her mother looks concerned, so Callie goes on to explain Lila’s theory about the menopause.

  “You need to go to the doctor.”

  “I will, I will. I had an appointment the other day but then a client called and I had to run over there. I’ll go next week. Definitely. So what do you guys feel like eating?”

  Some time later, the salads have been eaten, the sparkling mineral water drunk, and the bill has been called for—Honor’s treat—when Steffi’s phone rings.

  “Oh hey, Mason! We’re just finishing lunch in New Canaan . . . You are? . . . Sure we can come now . . . Don’t worry, I’m with my mom and my sister and she has GPS in the car so we can just plug it in. Okay . . . Great.” She finishes the call and looks at Honor and Callie. “Mason’s already there,” she says. “And he says we can come over now if we’re ready. Callie? Do you want me to drive? You look terrible.”

  “I’ll be okay.” Callie squints; the pain is now significant. “I think this is turning into a migraine. Can we stop at that drugstore we passed at the top of the street and get some painkillers? This is pretty bad.”

  “Let me drive,” Steffi says.

  “No, no.” Callie shakes her head, wincing as she does so, then stands up slowly and gingerly. “Honestly I’m fine, and I’d rather drive.”

  Steffi and her mother exchange a look, but Honor shrugs. There is no arguing with Callie when she makes up her mind, but the sooner they get some painkillers into her, the better.

  Callie drives with her eyes now half closed against the pain, concentrating furiously on getting to the pharmacy. The pain is like a vise in her head, and she is feeling increasingly nauseated. This is like the others, but stronger.

  Just get to the pharmacy, she tells herself, the voice in her head drowning out concerned mumbles from her mother and sister. And then everything goes black. She isn’t even aware of slowly driving across the road and into a street lamp. As Honor screams and tries to grab the wheel, Steffi covers her head in horror.

  Spiced Black Bean Fritters

  I have made this recipe with black beans, chickpeas, haricot beans, and even the dreaded lima beans, and they are all equally delicious—it’s the perfect pantry meal when you’re stuck.

  Ingredients

  2 tablespoons olive oil

  1 small onion, finely minced

  1 large green pepper, finely chopped

  Dried red chili (to taste), minced

  2 teaspoons ground coriander

  2 teaspoons ground cumin

  1½ teaspoons turmeric

  1 can black beans

&n
bsp; 2 handfuls fresh cilantro

  ½ teaspoon grated lemon zest

  3-4 tablespoons yogurt, plain or soy

  Salt and pepper to taste

  ½ cup whole-wheat or chickpea flour

  2 tablespoons sesame oil

  2-3 garlic cloves

  Method

  Heat the oil, add the onion, pepper and chili to taste: a slight sprinkling for those who don’t like heat. If you add too much, you can cut it with lemon juice.

  Cook for about 5 minutes until soft, then add the coriander, cumin and turmeric, and stir-fry for another 30 seconds. Remove from the heat and set aside.

  Put the beans and fresh cilantro in a blender and process until evenly chopped. In a medium bowl combine the beans, cooked onion mixture, lemon zest and yogurt. Season with salt and pepper.

  Form the mixture into 8 patties, roughly ½-inch thick, and coat them with the flour. Heat the sesame oil over a high heat in a frying pan. When hot, fry the patties a few at a time, roughly 1 minute per side. Drain on a paper towel for a few minutes and serve with mango chutney, or tofutti sour cream with chopped garlic and cilantro added.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Walter Tollemache sits down at his computer and sighs wearily as he opens his inbox and sees yet another email from Hiromi.

  And his morning had been going so well.

  He misses being married, certainly misses having someone to look after him, and yet . . . and yet . . . there is something so nice about being in the house by himself, not having anyone chatting away to him first thing in the morning, being able to enjoy his cup of tea as he sits on the bench outside and pets the cat—the only good thing to have come out of his brief marriage to Hiromi.

  In the early days, when they were courting, when she was still pretending to be sweet and docile, she brought him a kitten that she had “rescued” from the pet store. Walter had never been a cat person, but Hiromi adored the kitten and so he tried very hard to like it too, and it quickly became clear to him that this was a very unusual cat, much more dog, in fact, than cat, and so he and Brutus became firm friends.