Her Name Will Be Faith

by Christopher Nicole

  “Ten and eight. Have you any? Oh, no, I remember…”

  “Wish I had, in a way, but it’s probably just as well I don’t, with the divorce and all that.”

  “That’s true. Was it…” She hesitated before asking the question which had immediately leapt to her tongue. “Very traumatic?”

  He shrugged. “I was told it could’ve been a lot worse. We both wanted out at the same time, and having no kids was a great help.”

  “Yes,” she said, thoughtfully. She had not come here today to think about her own problems — rather to escape them. But of course they were inescapable now. And hideous. Just for starters, there was no chance, even if Michael would admit they no longer even liked each other, much less loved, that he would want out from his children any more than she could contemplate abandoning them. Richard was clearly waiting for her to say something, so she asked, “What’s it like being single again, after years of marriage?”

  He was about to tell her it was great to have freedom again, all those trite quips one usually trotted out when asked that question. Instead he said, “Awful. I hate it. I never dreamed how lonely it could be.”

  Jo shook her head in amazement. “That’s incredible. I’d have thought you’d have any number of girl friends.”

  “Don’t you believe it. Oh, there are lots of girls, yes. But…”

  “What have casual girl friends and bright lights to do with sharing TV suppers with your favorite person?” Jo suggested wistfully.

  Richard’s eyes narrowed. “You know?”

  All at once she was nervous. The conversation had crossed that invisible dividing line between professional colleagues casually discussing personal matters, and two people striving for at least mental intimacy. He had begun to bare his soul to her, and he was inviting her to do the same in return. Well, she thought, with some men it wouldn’t matter, and she was in the mood to do just that — but this one was far too attractive, and right at this moment she was far too vulnerable. She laughed. “What married woman doesn’t, occasionally? My husband spends most of his time yacht racing. Now tell me what you’re going to say in your first hurricane chat.”

  He felt a stab of disappointment as she backed off, and tried to get his mind back to business. “Well, I guess I’ll have to begin with outlining just what a hurricane is, and hope to God I have something real to talk about before JC cancels the show.”

  “JC? Oh, you mean Calthrop White.”

  Richard grinned. “That’s the network ogre, all right.”

  “Surely he won’t cancel the show after one program?”

  “He might. He reckoned that there’d be hurricane activity down south this summer which would give the chats a boost, and it just isn’t happening. Oh, there have been three named storms, but they’ve all fizzled.”

  “Don’t tell me: the jet stream has been knocking them off before they could properly form.”

  “You have a good memory. Trouble is, the jet stream hasn’t been all that strong over the central Atlantic this summer.”

  “So what’s the reason?”

  He shrugged. “I told you, meteorology is still an inexact science. I simply don’t know. It’s as if something out there was straining to bust loose, and hasn’t been able to, yet.”

  “Isn’t that an angle for you to use?”

  He shook his head. “I’d be torn to ribbons by my fellow forecasters, and if it didn’t happen JC would have my guts for garters.”

  She was terribly aware of those black, mobile eyebrows, and that sleek black hair and the way he could smile with just half his mouth. She could see he was quite different from her first impressions of him — so much more real and sincere, and, she realized, he was vulnerable, too. She drained her glass and averted her eyes, watched other people come in to the restaurant and the feet of passers-by above them on the sidewalk.

  There was a brief silence, then he asked, “Do you go racing with your husband?”

  “No. Michael made it quite clear, a long time ago, that his sort of sailing is for men only.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “How does he relate that theory to women like Clare Francis or Naomi James?”

  “I’m afraid Michael does not relate his theories to anyone, or anything,” she said. “He just behaves and thinks as he sees fit.” And now he would even more, she thought.

  “Then what are your hobbies?”

  Her turn to shrug. “Being Mum, I suppose. There just isn’t enough time to do anything else, if I’m going to hold down my job as well.”

  “But…” He checked what he had been going to say.

  “Oh, sure, we don’t need my income. That’s not the point, though, is it? I have a life to live just as much as Michael, and I love journalism. But spare time does go on being a wife and mother. You won’t believe it, looking at me now, but I used to play a lot of squash in the winter, and tennis in the summer, but one needs to play three or four times a week to maintain any sort of standard, and I hate playing games badly, so I guess picking up the threads will have to wait until the children are older.” She realized that she was, after all, baring her soul to him, and discovered that she didn’t mind. In fact, she wanted to, because he was listening to her in perfect seriousness. She smiled. “I get what kicks I can out of music. Sometimes, after the kids are in bed — and when I can find a baby sitter — I go to a concert or a play… or just stay at home and listen to records. I have a super disc collection.”

  “Really? I think I do too. What sort of music? Classical?” He leaned eagerly across the table.

  “Yes, mostly.”

  “CDs?”

  “Oh, yes. Yours?”

  “Naturally. I’d love to show you my set-up; it’s the only part of the apartment that’s properly finished. Do you have half an hour?” Then he almost visibly gasped at the thought that she might accept.

  They stared at each other, both knowing the implications of his invitation. Richard held his breath, while Jo’s mind raced through the list of fors and againsts. But she knew what she wanted to do. It was years since a man had looked at her like this; come to think of it, it was hard to recall if Michael ever had. So she might regret it… but her entire life right now seemed composed of regrets.

  She smiled, shyly. “Yes, I have half an hour to spare,” she said, quietly but decisively.

  In the elevator, Richard apologized for the mess she would find in his lounge. “Guess I just haven’t gotten around to deciding what to do with it. I’m not too hot on interior design.”

  “That’s because you haven’t got a woman prodding you all the time,” she said without thinking, and wanted to bite her tongue. But she immediately saw what he meant, shuddering at the hideous orange walls.

  He showed her the music center and the neat cases of compact discs. “Take your pick. Anything there you like?”

  Scanning the titles, she tried to think, tried to decide what to do if… wondered if coming here hadn’t been the stupidest thing she’d done since… since marrying Michael? Aware that he was patiently waiting, she stammered, “I’m spoilt for choice. I love them all. How about some Chopin?”

  The reproduction was exquisite. Standing beside the window, double-glazed against the Manhattan traffic, she closed her eyes, listening, absorbing. And when she re-opened them, he was beside her, filling her with an overwhelming desire to touch him — be in his arms. And he wanted it too; she could read it in his eyes.

  Silently they moved together, eyes locked. Jo felt herself drawn against him and stood trembling, wanting — yet frightened, overawed by the magnitude of her reaction to him. Richard was not the first man to have touched her since she’d married Michael; there had been plenty of sly hugs and kisses at parties and smoochy dancing with some very attractive men. This was different. She was very aware of how great the gulf was between those fun flirtations and what she felt now.

  “Jo?” His voice was scarcely above a whisper.

  “Richard?” She felt his breath on her fore
head and tilted her head to meet his mouth with hers. Suddenly she was vibrant, alive; a great surging joy welled up to fill her chest, her throat, her head, leaving her gasping under his soft kisses. His encircling arms moved up, and with fingers threaded in her hair he held her face in both hands and gazed at her, smiling — the famous Connors smile. But this was genuine.

  “Darling Jo. I have dreamed of you for the past fortnight, praying, hoping, and fearing it might all never happen.” He crushed her against him as Chopin’s Revolutionary Study filled the room.

  The feeling of utter contentment blotted out all reality. The fact that she was married, irrevocably, that this love could only be an illicit, secret thing, that she could never stand on the proverbial hilltop and shout it to the world, or even admit it to her closest confidante, was irrelevant.

  All that mattered was the steady beat of his heart against her ear, his arms, his love.

  Love? Oh, yes, it was love. Love like she could never remember feeling until now. A joyous, two-way thing, transmitted between them through kisses, caresses, and the way they looked. And, pressed against him, she knew he wanted more. As did she. When he turned her towards the bedroom she made no resistance, but then stared at him in consternation as the doorbell rang.

  “Oh, goddamn,” he said. “Just give me a moment.”

  She stood in the center of the room, watching him as he went to the door. Now was the moment to regain sanity and leave. But she wasn’t going to do that. She wanted only to have him back in her arms.

  The door was open. “Hi, old buddy,” Mark Hammond said. “Got in a shade earlier than I’d hoped.”

  “Remind me to put a bomb in your plane next time you go on patrol,” Richard said.

  SATURDAY 17 JUNE

  Bognor, Connecticut

  “Come on in, Mom, it’s lovely,” Owen Michael called from the swim pool.

  “It’s a bit early in the year for me,” Jo replied from her lounger.

  “Don’t know why I bust a gut putting in solar heating,” Big Mike groused. “No one seems to use the pool any more often.”

  “We do,” Tamsin shouted.

  “Huh? You two used to break the ice to get in. Hasn’t made a cent of difference to you,” their grandfather retorted.

  Reluctantly, Jo heaved herself up and went to the edge of the pool to dip a toe in. “Hey, that’s quite warm.”

  “Fooled you,” Big Mike grinned. “The heating isn’t even on today.”

  Jo dived, her slim body slicing through the water under the children to tickle their feet and bring shrieks and squeaks as they splashed to get away.

  “Shame Michael isn’t here,” Babs murmured. “I thought he was only going to race every other weekend?”

  “Yep. Something wrong there. You can see it in Jo’s face,” Big Mike replied in a low voice. “It’s my bet he means to do the Bermuda Race again this year.”

  “Oh, no! Do you really think so, after his promise to come to Eleuthera?”

  Jo swam back to where they were sitting, kicked her legs and bounced up to perch on the pool edge beside them. “That’s just super. Have you really turned off the solar panel?”

  “Not off,” Mike explained. “I’ve switched it to heating the house water alone. The weather’s been so warm recently the pool hasn’t needed it.”

  “We’ve had a record spring,” Babs remarked. “Temperature-wise, anyway.”

  “Jo! Why’s Michael up in Newport this weekend? Is he preparing Esmeralda for the Bermuda race after all?” Big Mike was not renowned for his tact: if he had a question he usually asked it.

  Babs flushed and waited.

  “Yes,” Jo replied, not looking at them. She had not meant to discuss Michael with them — no doubt he would tell them his plans when he was ready. Besides, she had not wanted to think about Michael since Thursday afternoon. She still couldn’t make up her mind whether she was glad or sorry that navy flier had walked in on them. He had been as embarrassed as they, but the ice had soon been broken, and they had sat around chatting and drinking coffee and beer until four. That he had been an old friend of Richard’s had been sufficient to make him a friend of hers. That he was Richard’s secret source of information about the weather made him an absorbing personality, especially when he had talked about the long, weary hours flying over the Atlantic, investigating every piece of cloud cover for signs of that circulation which would mean warm air rising too fast for safety.

  And while he had talked, she and Richard had glanced at each other, the physical desire slowly subsiding, to be replaced by what? She wasn’t sure. When she had realized the time and hurriedly left, he had come with her to the door. “I’m real sorry about that,” he had said. “Can we meet again? Mark will only be here a couple of days.”

  “I’ll call you,” she had promised. But she hadn’t yet. Mark might still be there, and besides… it had never occurred to her in her wildest daydreams that she would ever cheat on her marriage. Even if that marriage was over? That was something she had to be certain of.

  “Oh, dear.” Babs’ tone was indicative of her concern; she was well aware of the implications of Michael’s absence.

  Jo felt their eyes on her, knew they were itching to learn if the old wounds had been reopened — if they only guessed at the truth they would have a fit. But they would have to be told something. The children were at the far end of the pool, racing from one side to the other, splashing and shouting. “Yes,” she admitted. “We did have another quarrel, a big one, Wednesday night. When he told me he’d decided to race after all. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner — I thought he’d have done it himself. Maybe I was hoping he’d change his mind back again.”

  “Perhaps he will,” Babs ventured.

  Jo shrugged her wet shoulders and said nothing.

  “Well…” Mike shook his head. “You knew he was a keen sportsman before you married, and if this is the way he wants it to be…” He paused, lamely.

  “Quite. And he knew I was a keen journalist. Only I’ve kept my side of the bargain and cut back my work. So where do we go from here?” She wondered if they could help her solve her dilemma, even if inadvertently.

  Alarm bells were sounding in Babs’ brain. “Oh, my dear, I’m quite sure something can be worked out.”

  “What?” Mike asked.

  Jo looked from one to the other. “If you can come up with some good suggestions, I’m all ears.”

  “Can’t you discuss it together…” Babs started.

  “We have. And it always ends in a slanging match.” When your son doesn’t actually hit me, she thought, but she wasn’t going to tell them that.

  They sat silently watching the children. The sky was an uninterrupted blue, but for the birds which occasionally swooped from the branches of one pine to the next. Gazanias and mesembrianthemums spread their colorful petals to embrace the warmth while bees hummed a ballet over the borders.

  Mike rolled his feet off the lounger and stood up. “When’s he coming home? I’m going to talk to him.”

  “I’ve no idea,” Jo said. “We’re not exactly communicating at the moment. But anyway, it’s a waste of time. He’ll know I’ve told you, and he’ll accuse me of running up here whining to you.” She tipped her weight forward, flopped into the pool, and swam to the far end and back, long, lazy strokes with the minimum of splash. She leaned her arms on the coronation and looked up at Mike and Babs, seeing the anxiety in their eyes. “I’m sorry. So sorry. He says it’s all my fault, and naturally, I think it’s his. I suppose we just have to accept that we’re not compatible.”

  “Compatible, shit,” Mike growled. “Don’t give me that. Folks are as compatible or incompatible as they make up their minds to be. Look…” He sat on the edge of the lounger again, leaning towards her. “Don’t get me wrong. I think he’s behaving like a lousy son of a…” He threw Babs an apologetic grin. “Louse, breaking his promise, but dammit, it is his life, and if he wants to spend all his leisure time sailing…” />
  “He should never have got married in the first place,” Jo interrupted bitterly. “He’s like someone who buys a puppy to fuss over and pamper, and then abandons it when he gets bored or it proves too much trouble. Michael is bored with marriage, with me, and with his children.”

  “Oh, Jo! That’s not fair!” Babs protested.

  “Okay, maybe I’m wrong. But you tell me why he wants to spend so little time with us?” She could feel tears starting to sting her eyes.

  “Well, you know how much he loves Esmeral…” Babs’ voice was gentle and coaxing.

  “You’re damned right I do. More than home, family, children… more than anything. Maybe I should just let him get on with it, and offer up grateful thanks to God for the few times he does spare us a little of his company. Well, I’m sorry, folks, but that’s not my idea of a marriage. I didn’t marry Michael just to be his maid, valet, bear him children, and be available for his sexual satisfaction whenever he requires it. I want a companion, too, to share things… like our children, holidays, the fun there is in life doing things that families do together.” She scrambled out of the pool, grabbed her towel, and rushed up to the house to shower… and weep.

  When she reappeared, made up and smiling in a pretty sun suit, Babs jumped up and ran to put her arms round her. “Dearest Jo, we all do love you so much. Please don’t give up, please. Anyway, don’t let it get you down. We’ll all have a talk with Michael, and maybe… if you’ll just be patient.”

  Jo hugged her back. “I love you all too, remember?”

  “Then you’re not thinking of… well… separating? Or anything like that?”

  She was actually considering the dread word, divorce. But she couldn’t tell them that. Certainly she didn’t intend a separation, which could only make matters worse while solving nothing. “No. No, I’m not,” she promised. But Babs and Mike both noticed she wasn’t smiling.

  MONDAY 19 JUNE

  Park Avenue

  The phone on Jo’s desk buzzed, and she picked it up, heart pounding. She still hadn’t called Richard, although she had almost made up her mind to, knowing full well that it meant she would go to bed with him. But Michael had returned from Newport as aggressively contemptuous of her as ever.