by Sue Margolis
“Why don’t you pop round after I get back from the Blues Café?” Stephanie said. “I’ll do a fry-up.” Cass said that sounded great.
Stephanie was just about to phone Lizzie to see if she felt up to coming, when Lizzie rang. “So, what happened with Ossie?” It was so typical, Stephanie thought. No matter what she was going through, Lizzie still thought about other people. Stephanie wasn’t sure how she would react when she told her that she’d accepted the offer. Whereas Stephanie was merely neurotically honest, Lizzie was wildly, fanatically so. An overdue library book practically had her handing herself in at the local police station. But even Lizzie could see Stephanie didn’t have much choice. “Look, I’m not as daring as you and if it were me, I’d probably wimp out, but you need the money. Nobody is going to get hurt. Go for it.” Stephanie knew she didn’t need Lizzie’s approval, but it was good to have it all the same.
“So,” Stephanie said, “how are things with you? Any news from Dom?” Lizzie said he’d phoned last night in tears, saying the affair was over, that it had been a huge mistake, that he was missing her and the boys like mad and begging her to let him come back. “So, you going to let him?”
Lizzie let out a long breath. “I guess—eventually. He’s even suggested we go to counseling. The thing is, I’m so angry with him. I can’t ever remember feeling this angry. I did something quite appalling yesterday, I was so furious.” Stephanie imagined Lizzie, incandescent with rage, cutting up his Nicole Farhi suits, e-mailing a photograph of him in thong Speedos to all his colleagues at the law firm or at the very least cleaning skid marks off the loo with his toothbrush. “You know that handbag he got me for Christmas? I took it back to Harrods and got a refund.”
Stephanie’s instinct was to say “Wow. Alert the First Wives’ Club. They’re bound to offer you a lifetime’s free membership.” She held back because she knew how hard Lizzie found it to show anger. Returning the bag—which she’d adored—was, as far as Stephanie knew, the nearest her friend had ever come to demonstrating real fury.
“Did taking it back make you feel better?” Stephanie asked kindly.
“You have no idea.”
“Good for you. Look, Cass is coming round tonight when I get back from the Blues Café. Why don’t you come too? We can talk.”
“Great. It’ll do me good to get out. You two can help me think up ways to get my own back on this B.O. hussy.”
“Fine. But I’m assuming we’re going more for mild name-calling than bare-breasted mud wrestling.”
“OK, OK,” Cass said, dipping sausage into runny fried egg yolk. “I know we’re here to talk about Lizzie, but I simply cannot hold back. I just have to tell you how the frugal lunch went.” She sat chewing for a few seconds. Then she swallowed. “Girls … it has finally happened. I am in love.” Apparently Alex was gentle, so unmaterialistic, a wonderful listener, and really cared about the poor and the future of the planet. “He raises thousands for Oxfam and every year he spends two months in Africa working in this tiny village school.”
“But, Cass,” Stephanie said, “he’s also a Christian. No, he’s more than that. He makes his living from being a Christian.”
“OK, I admit, he’s not perfect. But if I can date blokes who wear corduroy, I’m sure I can cope with a Christian.”
“But you have nothing in common,” Lizzie said. “First, there’s the religion thing. On top of that, you are the most materialistic person I know. And you don’t give a stuff about the planet. You still think the ozone layer is something that comes off during a chemical peel.”
“That’s not fair,” Cass came back, pretending to look hurt. “I think I’m very environmentally friendly.”
“Cass,” Stephanie piped up, “shagging a gamekeeper once at a country house weekend does not count as environmentally friendly.”
“Well, I’m a great believer that opposites attract. Plus Alex has got a body like a condom full of walnuts.”
“My God,” Lizzie said, “you slept with him on the first date? I mean, he is a vicar. They’re not meant to have sex outside marriage, let alone on the first date.”
Cass shrugged. “We couldn’t wait. He felt guilty, but while he was going down on me I sang ‘Jerusalem.’ So are you pleased for me? Say you’re pleased for me.”
Stephanie and Lizzie got up from the table, hugged her and said of course they were pleased for her. “I know it’s early days,” Cass went on, “but I know this is going to lead to something. I just know it.”
The conversation turned to Lizzie. “You know, I’ve been thinking,” Stephanie said. “I’m not sure revenge is such a good idea. At least not in the way you mean it. The point is that Dom wants to come back and you know that eventually you’ll take him back. I can see that flogging his golf clubs or slashing B.O.’s car tires might make you feel better in the short term, but I don’t think it’s really going to solve anything.”
Cass said she agreed. In her opinion, something far more dignified was called for. “What you have to do,” she said, “is turn the tables. At the moment you are the victim. You need to reclaim the power. Dom must be on his knees, begging you to have him back.” She began opening a new packet of Marlboro Lights.
“How do I do that?”
“Easy. Has Dom got any company dos coming up?”
“Yes. His firm’s annual dinner at Eden.”
“Perfect,” Cass said, pinching a cigarette from the packet. “You simply turn up looking like Cameron Diaz, on the arm of some seven-foot steel-torsoed hunk. That won’t be a problem. I know dozens. That way Dom is reminded of how absolutely stunning and sexy you are and that you have men lusting after you. Believe me, he will be eaten up with jealousy.”
Lizzie sat processing for a few moments. “I’m just not sure I’m brave enough. And Cameron Diaz? I look more like Camilla Parker Bowles these days.”
Cass asked if it would help if she took her shopping. “We’ll buy a fabulous dress, get your hair and makeup done. Come on, it’ll be fun.”
Lizzie started giggling. “And we’ll put it all on Dom’s credit card.”
“You bet,” Cass said.
“And you two will come with me for moral support?”
“Sweetie, we wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Cass grinned. Then she turned to Steph to get her reaction.
“Count me in,” Steph said. Then she got up and opened another bottle of wine to celebrate. She was on the point of telling them she’d kissed Frank and that he had asked her out, but she pulled back. Cass would only go on about the dangers of being a transitional woman and Lizzie, feeling vulnerable because Dom had been cheating on her, would make her feel guilty for seeing Frank behind Albert’s back. Just now, she didn’t want to hear it.
Chapter 14
Stephanie turned off the light and lay in bed staring at the moon shadows on the wall. She didn’t need Lizzie to make her feel guilty about seeing Frank behind Albert’s back. She already felt it. From time to time, the roller blind stirred in the breeze and knocked gently against the window frame. Then the shadows would start to dance.
Why had she let Albert run out on her yesterday? She should have chased after him, insisted he stay just for a few minutes and listen to what she had to say. It would have been painful, but at least everything would have been out in the open. Of course he would have been distraught—not about losing her, she suspected, but about losing the family he wanted so badly. Albert adored being a father, and he was happy enough being a boyfriend. What he didn’t want was to be a husband. She thought about phoning him in the morning and immediately decided against it. No, she had to speak to him face-to-face. She owed him that much.
By morning, a hard red zit the size of Krakatoa had appeared on the side of her nose. Not satisfied that she was already deeply troubled about the date with Frank, God had clearly decided to push the point home.
She was thinking about phoning Frank to call off their date, when he called to tell her he would pick her up at seven thirt
y. The moment she heard his voice her spirits soared and she realized how much she wanted to see him. He said he’d booked a restaurant in a village on the Thames, just outside Oxford. “I hope that’s OK. The drive will give us time to talk and I thought it would be good to get out of London for a few hours.”
She said it sounded perfect.
From then on, her guilty feelings didn’t so much recede as find themselves overtaken by excitement. She decided to wear the deep pink halter-neck dress Cass had given her a few months ago. “I bought it in a rush without trying it on. Sod’s law, it’s turned out to be miles too big, but I know it’ll look perfect on you.”
“Gee, thanks,” Stephanie had said, feeling like a pregnant ewe. She asked Cass why she didn’t take it back to the shop. Cass said she’d lost the receipt and she couldn’t be bothered.
Of course Cass was right. The dress looked wonderful. Stephanie’s angular shoulders were one of her best features and it showed them off to perfection. Over the top she would wear the pretty pink faux Chanel coat she’d bought in Kookai last year.
Every couple of hours she found herself standing in front of the bathroom mirror, assessing the zit situation. It reminded her of being sixteen again. How many Saturdays had she spent in tears, wailing to her mother that she couldn’t possibly go to the party, club or whatever with a face full of boils. Estelle would tell her not to be silly, that she only had a few tiny pimples and you could hardly see them. “Yeah, right,” Stephanie would say. “Where, from Fiji?” Of course, she always ended up going, albeit with her face covered in patches of supposedly flesh-colored acne cream, which was so orange that only a satsuma could carry it off. Somehow, Estelle had always managed to convince her that nobody would notice in the dark.
Today, though, she was in luck. There was no need for the satsuma acne cream. By evening, the zit was looking considerably less livid and it had stopped hurting. Nevertheless, she still spent ages dabbing it with concealer and adding extra blusher to draw the attention away from her nose. Then, of course, she realized that the blusher made her look like a cheap tart and she had to take it off again. By twenty-five past seven, she’d only just finished her makeup. Realizing the time, she bolted into the bedroom and got dressed in three minutes flat. She was putting on her earrings and at the same time slipping her feet into her slingbacks when the doorbell rang.
“Wow, you look absolutely stunning,” Frank said, kissing her on the cheek. “You don’t look so bad yourself,” she smiled, taking in the expensive gray suit and pale lavender open-neck shirt and thinking how truly handsome he was.
The journey must have taken well over an hour, but for Stephanie it seemed to pass in minutes. As usual they didn’t stop talking. She learned that his parents had retired to Eastbourne, where they were stalwarts of the local lawn bowling team, that he had a dotty, tree-hugging sister who lived in Cornwall with a Buddhist clown and that his favorite book was the Boys’ Bumper Book of Magic Tricks, which he’d been given for Christmas when he was nine. “I’m really starting to get the hang of some of the tricks now,” he said in mock seriousness. She burst out laughing, realizing how much she loved this funny, self-deprecating side of him. She didn’t mean to compare him to Albert, but it wasn’t hard to see that Frank was so much less tied up with his own ego.
He seemed particularly keen to hear about Jake. “Managing on your own must be hard.”
She told him how difficult it had been when he was a baby and he didn’t sleep. “But my friends and Mum and Dad have been great. Jake’s dad lives in L.A., but he comes over when he can.”
She prayed he wouldn’t ask her any more details about her relationship with Albert. If he knew they were involved—albeit about to become uninvolved—he might well run a mile. There was no way that a kind, decent man like Frank would want to come between her and the father of her child.
The restaurant was part of a Georgian manor house. It was set back from the road, at the end of a sweeping gravel drive. “Oh, this is so beautiful,” Stephanie said, gazing at the grand floodlit facade. Beyond the house, she could see the jet river twinkling in the moonlight.
The place was pleasantly full, but not crowded. In the bar a coal fire burned in the marble fireplace. Frank ordered two glasses of champagne and Stephanie went to the ladies’ room to check on her zit. It was fine. All you could see under the concealer was a slight bump. God was giving her a break after all.
Back in the bar, she sat down next to Frank on one of the squidgy chintz sofas. They clinked glasses and sipped the champagne. He moved closer to her so that their bodies were touching. At one point his thigh brushed against hers and her whole body was filled with tiny prickles of excitement.
He let his finger trail over her collarbone. “Has anybody ever told you that you have the most beautiful shoulders?”
“Oh, maybe once or twice,” she said with a coquettish grin.
As they carried on chatting and laughing, she was struck, not for the first time, that whenever she was with Frank, she felt as if she had come home. It was beginning to dawn on her that she was falling in love.
Soon a waiter arrived and handed them each a menu. He was tall and possessed what Stephanie decided was a rather imperious, Jeeves-ish bearing.
She and Frank both agreed that they couldn’t resist the beef Wellington. When the waiter returned to take their order, Stephanie became aware that he kept glancing at her feet and smirking. Her legs were crossed and at first she thought he was admiring them. It took her a few seconds before she realized what he was really looking at. Her eyes locked onto her feet. On one she was wearing a pink suede slingback, which perfectly matched her dress. On the other was a peacock blue one, which perfectly matched the dress she’d worn for the Sidney Doucette audition.
“Stephanie?” Frank said, looking perplexed. “You with us? The waiter is asking how you’d like your beef done.”
She uncrossed her legs and sat trying to arrange things so that the pink shoe obscured the blue one by resting on top of it. Of course, this simply drew Frank’s attention to her feet. Without missing a beat, he said: “You know, Steph, I’ve been meaning to say, those really are great shoes.” She looked up at him. He was clearly struggling to stifle his laughter. “Vivienne Westwood is so witty, such a risk taker.”
Taking her cue from Frank, Stephanie turned to the waiter and said, very pointedly, “Yes, isn’t she?”
The waiter’s expression turned to embarrassed confusion. He finished taking their order and practically ran out of the bar. Frank was almost weeping with laughter. Stephanie, of course, was almost as embarrassed as the waiter. Avoiding the zit issue, she explained how she’d been rushing to get dressed.
“Stephanie, please don’t worry. The shoes look brilliant.”
“No, they don’t,” she giggled. “They look completely and utterly ridiculous. But thank you for saying so. And thanks for putting that waiter in his place.”
“My pleasure,” he said, leaning in and kissing her gently on the mouth.
The elegant cream dining room was bathed in candlelight. On each starched-linen-covered table there were wineglasses the size of fishbowls and a tiny crystal vase full of snowdrops. They were shown to a table next to tall French doors. Stephanie peered through the glass. In the moonlight, she could see a couple of swans swimming sedately downriver.
“Wonder what they’re doing out after dark,” she said. Frank gave a soft laugh and said they were probably going to a late movie.
“They mate for life, you know, swans,” she said, feeling awkward and wondering what on earth had prompted her to say that.
He smiled back at her. “I thought that was penguins,” he said. She watched him stroke the tablecloth, wiping away imaginary crumbs. “Do you know when I first realized I wanted to get to know you again?” She shook her head. “When Anoushka and I bumped into you in Debenhams.”
“What, in that Mrs. Claus outfit? I nearly died.”
“You looked amazing. It’s funny,
but I think I knew there and then that Anoushka and I were never going to make it.”
Each course was more glorious than the last. The beef melted in the mouth, the bread-and-butter pudding—which they shared because they were so full—was a heavenly combination of crispy toasty topping and smooth custard laced with nutmeg and cinnamon.
By the time the coffee came, they were exchanging their favorite jokes. These eventually got sillier and sillier. When he asked her how you know if you pass an elephant, she said in her best music hall voice, “Aye don’t know, how do you know when you pass an elephant?”
“You can’t get the loo seat down.” They laughed and snorted so much they started getting disapproving looks from the other diners.
As they walked back to the car after dinner, he put his arm round her and she snuggled into him. On the drive home they listened to Sinatra. “I’ve had a wonderful time tonight,” he said, resting a hand on her thigh. She told him she had too.
When they pulled up outside her flat, he switched off the car engine and turned to face her. They sat locked in each other’s gaze for a moment or two. Then he began stroking her face. Finally his fingers went to her lips. “I really love the corners of your mouth,” he said. She felt herself go red and asked him why. “Because they’re always slightly turned up—as if you’re about to smile.” The next thing she knew he was kissing her. She melted into him, her body aching for him. As she felt his hand brush over her breast she desperately wanted to invite him in, but she couldn’t do it. Her mind was filled with a vision of Albert. Try as she might she couldn’t get rid of it. She couldn’t make love to Frank until she had ended it with Albert. She just couldn’t. It would be too cruel.
As they pulled away and her hand edged toward the door lever, she could see a cloud of disappointment pass over Frank’s face. But it only lasted a moment. “Maybe we could get together on Monday after you’ve finished at the studio,” he said. His smile had returned, which made her feel much easier. He probably just assumed she had a no-sex-on-the-first-date rule.