She turned serious. “No, you’re not messed up. You’re obviously unhappy and that was some sort of escape, perhaps a wake up call to make you think hard about this relationship.”
“Well, it worked. I’m thinking about it. But honestly, I don’t think I can handle another failed relationship.” I sighed. “And for the girls it would be awful. They are fond of him.”
“I’m not saying you should break up with Hugo. All I’m saying is if there is something wrong, perhaps you can do something about it.”
I stared at my plate and poked around the ginger with the chopsticks. What was I supposed to do? Force Hugo to love my girls like they were his own? Start to hand him the controls? See whether I could work it out with Lars?
“You know, Chloé, you’re lucky. At least you’re financially independent. I would never - couldn’t ever - leave Michael even if I wanted to. He once said to me that if I ever dare to leave him, I wouldn’t get a penny. I just wouldn’t be able to face that sort of life.”
“That’s not true! Of course he would have to provide for you and the boys! Patricia, I know you feel neglected sometimes, and that’s terrible. But Michael loves you and he looks after you and the boys. Why don’t you talk to him and tell him how you feel? I’m sure he would listen. Instead of letting you buy something expensive, he should spend some quality time with you!”
Patricia smiled sadly. “I kind of try, Chloé, but it’s pointless. He doesn’t spend any time with me, never goes anywhere with me. I spend nearly every holiday without him, he never comes skiing with us, he doesn’t go to parties - he hates them! He says it’s all a waste of time. So I do everything on my own. And I get into trouble, too! You know last month when I flew to Dublin for the wedding of my school friend? At dinner I was seated next to this guy, he was really attractive, and single, and of course made a pass at me once he realised I was there on my own. We were dancing all night - it was really fun. And you know what? I enjoyed it! And the only reason why nothing further happened was because I knew I would feel too guilty afterwards.”
I took her hand. “You know, if you were to ever leave Michael, you could always count on me - you and the boys could even stay with me. I understand what you are saying and I really believe that you should have a serious talk with Michael, but it also upsets me to see you unhappy - these are the best years of your life! You are young, lovely and a wonderful person and you deserve to be happy!”
Patricia’s eyes filled with tears. She pulled her hand away and started rummaging for a handkerchief in her taupe Birkin bag. She found one and blew her nose. It pained me to see this fun-loving woman so resigned to ‘this’ life. I too loved handbags but I did not want a man who would let me buy a new Hermès bag and a gold Cartier watch but would never make love to me and not even hug me or to show me any tenderness in any other way. At that moment I could have strangled Michael. He was no different to any other partner in a large law firm, with a traditional assignment of roles - the wife at home in the golden cage, him in the office 24/7, even on Sundays, becoming a stranger to his own children and dissociated from his wife, losing respect for her, working more and more, thereby escaping his private life - it was a vicious circle. Until he or she had an affair, then the proverbial xxxx would hit the fan. That was what Patricia was afraid of. In order to be able to get through her day she brushed reality under the carpet and distracted herself with tennis and golf lessons and boozy lunches. But she could not hide from me. It was also my duty as a friend to tell her the truth.
“I have an idea! Why don’t you get a job? It would give you a purpose beyond the house and kids, more independence and confidence. And Michael would respect you more,” I suggested.
“What? What would I do - who would want me? I haven’t worked in ten years!” Patricia was horrified.
“Of course they would! You speak fluent English, German and French, you have organisational skills and you are very good with people. I don’t know - I could ask Hugo, he really could do with an office manager. You could work part-time and flexible hours! Yeah, that’s brilliant! I’ll ask him!” I was suddenly getting excited about the possibility to help Patricia to get out of her frustrated state of mind and her daily grind.
In the meantime, Patricia had turned slightly panicky. “Oh, Chloé, that’s really kind of you, but I don’t really have the time... and Michael wouldn’t want me to do that... it might mess up his financial planning or something.”
I sighed. “Well, please think about it. I do believe that something like this would be good for you and your marriage. Maybe the next time you meet some charming guy at a wedding, or on your skiing holidays, you’ll be so angry and frustrated with your life that you won’t feel guilty enough to show restraint and may do something with him. That’s not a solution, believe me. I’ve never technically slept with somebody else, whilst I was in a relationship, but when I found myself in the situation where I wanted to, I knew something was seriously wrong. Usually that resulted in me ending the relationship.”
“That’s not always an option? Especially when you’re married and have kids,” Patricia objected.
“I know! That is why I agreed to marriage counselling with Jean. But it was too late. All that the session’s did was to make me realise we were past any counselling. It was awful and heartbreaking - for me and for the girls, and I wouldn’t wish it on anybody. So, you’re right - if you have doubts about your marriage, you should try to save it first, Patricia. By sitting down with Michael and telling him how you feel,” I repeated. Maybe she would be able to gather enough courage.
“I think we both have some thinking to do,” Patricia reminded me.
I raised my eyebrows. “You are quite right.”
My blackberry rang. I checked the display. “Just a sec, Patricia. It’s Isabella.” I pressed the button with the green receiver. “Hi sweetie!”
“Hello darling. I did not want to disturb you in the office; I just wanted to say your Edith has arrived and you can pick it up any time.”
“You are not disturbing me - I’m having lunch with Patricia. That’s great, so I’ll pick it up on Saturday.”
“Fine! Then have a great day and say hello to Patricia.”
“Will do!” I hung up. “That was Isabella - she says hi. The handbag I ordered at Isabella’s shop has arrived!”
“Ooh! Which handbag?”
“A whiskey coloured Chloé Edith - it looks like a schoolbag I used to have when I was twelve. It’s actually not as expensive as a Paddington, probably because it does not have this massive lock!”
“You and your bags, Chloé!” Patricia laughed.
“You’re the one to talk, Miss Hermès! I could get six Chloé or Prada bags for one of your Birkins! Plus, Isabella always gives me a discount at her shop. Most of the time I buy in the sale or online outlets - or both! I buy things that are good quality and timeless. I keep them for a long time, and if I don’t want them anymore I sell them at the second-hand shop.”
“But I don’t think I know anybody who keeps her shoes in the boxes, with a Polaroid stuck on the side!”
I giggled. “Obviously, that’s how they don’t get dusty or dry out and I don’t have to open the box to see what’s inside. I actually have also started taking Polaroids of my bags and sticking them on the inside of my cupboard so I have an overview whilst keeping the bags in their dustbags.”
I wasn’t joking. My view was if you have beautiful things you should look after them properly. The same was true of my home. When everything was clean and tidy and lovely, I felt some sort of inner peace. Just as the illusory idyllic world of the luxury boutiques made me feel like a million dollars when entering the store, let alone when leaving with a large shopping bag and a happy smile while a doorman - a doorman! - would hold the door open for me (I do sometimes wonder what goes through their minds). I was quite aware that my passion for f
ashion had, in recent years, led to more and more purchases the pleasure of which faded faster with the more objects I bought. The harder I worked the more I shopped. I was a good girl, so I deserved to be rewarded. That is what I had learned. I was a well-mannered child, obedient and good in school. Whenever I spent time with my father he would buy me beautiful things. Hm. Maybe I should pick up the bag before Saturday.
* * *
I didn’t made it to Isabella’s shop before Saturday after all. I had taken Noëlle to a birthday party and only had Marie with me. Isabella had not seen her for a while.
“Oh, she is becoming so pretty!” she gushed when kissing me hello.
“And so content - as long as she can be with her Mummy.”
Marie had brought some toys and made herself comfortable on the white leather sofa in the back corner of the shop that was adorned with big cream coloured cushions.
Isabella’s boutique was like a second living room for me, it was simultaneously cosy and stylish. It offered chosen young vintage as well as new pieces from the current Chloé, Prada and Miu Miu collections, Diane von Furstenberg wrap dresses and Gucci accessories. On top of that, she exhibited paintings from her favourite artist, Sydney Helfman.
It was a perfect combination. In the past I would have bought so much more but for Isabella’s trusted, respected and restraining influence - a cool ‘you don’t need that’ or ‘you already have something similar’ was all that was needed. Her own style was of simple elegance - she mostly wore black trousers, a cashmere sweater and Chanel ballerinas - and she shared my passion for designer bags.
She provided Marie with chocolate milk and Jelly Babies and chatted to her softly, then joined me at the clothes rack, where I was admiring a black silk A-line Chloé coat with jewelled buttons.
“She is so adorable!” she raved. “I usually don’t know what to say to kids but your little angel is just so special!”
I knew what she meant. There are women who take pleasure in every child and others who are not really interested. I had belonged to the latter category until I gave birth myself and had to raise a child, which made me realise how beautiful children were and that every child was loveable. Marie with her soft face, big curls and sweet nature made it natural and easy to love her.
“Yes, I know. Noëlle is also very special - in a different way to Marie but also very adorable. But of course I would say that, I’m hardly impartial!”
“But their behaviour is a result of the way you raise them - just look at Marie being all good on the sofa! I have had children running around in the shop and throwing things off the shelves and their parents saying nothing. Awful!”
I shook my head. “That is terrible. It does take a lot of effort to teach children to be disciplined and have manners. But you don’t do them any favours, in the long run, if you tolerate that kind of behaviour!”
For sure I was no expert on child education. But I was convinced that teaching the girls some clear rules gave them a sense of security and self-respect. I was not so certain about my other methods - maybe I spoiled them too much, maybe I was sometimes too strict. I was often unsure whether I fulfilled the role of their mother or their father or both. Perhaps I should spend more time with them, play with them more and listen to them more. Even when she was still alive my mother had not done that. She always seemed to be elsewhere. And when my father left her, for a younger woman, she fell apart and disappeared completely. It was like nobody was home anymore. After her passing I was glad that my father was somebody who was not emotional and just got on with things. So I knew I always had to function for my girls. Provide for them, make all decisions, set the rules and protect them from harm.
Isabella read my mind. “You are doing alright, love. Otherwise they wouldn’t have made it so well through the separation from Jean.” She pressed my arm. “OK, and now I am going to get your Edith!” she announced and disappeared behind the counter.
“Here she is!” She held up the cream dust bag with the brown logo. I took it from her with awe and opened it. I pulled out the handbag.
“I love it!” I carefully stroked the deliciously soft, light chocolate truffle-coloured leather.
“You can have it for eight hundred.”
I stared at her in shock. “No, sweetie! You don’t need to do that - you must make your cut out of this!” In fact my heart skipped a beat - in my view the full price of nine hundred was already reasonable, but eight hundred! It didn’t even cross my mind how much money that was for most people.
“Don’t worry, that’s enough,” she replied gaily. “It does suit you!” She examined me slowly. “You do look tired though - I noticed that already when you entered the shop today.”
I tried to smile. “Well, I am not getting a lot of sleep. My boss is keeping me on my toes. I don’t mind the hard work - I’ve always worked hard. But I have the feeling that she is only satisfied with her team - if at all - if we work day and night.”
I suddenly realised I had tried to ignore how unhappy I actually was. I had started my new job with so much energy and good intentions. I had thought Tracey and I would become allies, but it had become very clear that this would be impossible. We were just too different. She was a product of the big law firm system, having learned the rules from scratch and knowing how to get ahead in the firm and take credit for any success - always with a smile and a treacly voice. You never knew what she really thought though.
In contrast, I was undiplomatic and direct. You get what you see. Maybe in the past I had relied too much on my charm as a counterweight. Tracey, however, seemed completely immune to any kind of charm. Only extraordinary efforts counted and only at the moment they were made. Her staff did not receive any recognition from her, let alone any praise. She was like the witch in one of the Brothers’ Grimm fairy tales; the one that keeps piling wood upon the boy’s back, saying if you can carry that, you can carry more. Was she really so cold and cruel? Surely that was not possible - she, too, was human and had feelings.
“Somehow I cannot imagine you having a female boss. What does she look like?”
Isabella’s question propelled me back. I showed her Tracey’s photo on the P&W home page using her PC behind the counter and described her dress style as neutrally as possible.
Isabella knitted her brows. “I see. So the devil does not wear Prada in this case. Well, I’m not surprised she’s got a problem with you! You are the exact opposite of her - seriously I don’t know any other woman who is like you! And to top it all you are supposed to take her job. Now everything is crystal clear.”
“Oh, no, you’re exaggerating. Anyway, she’s got no reason to feel threatened. She is the partner, she has the position and the power. It’s not like I’m going to take that away from her - it was always the intention that she would go back to London to fulfil a role that is even more prestigious and I was recruited to become her successor! She’s always known that and must have agreed to it.”
“Yes, I know, but are you sure that is what she wants? Maybe she just agreed to this because she had to but in fact has quite different plans?”
I thought that over. “That makes no sense. She need not have recruited me.”
“Maybe she was full of good intentions initially. Of course I don’t know what’s going on in your firm but I think I am quite good at putting myself in someone’s shoes and if I was her, I would probably do everything in my power to stay in my position. Plus, you don’t know what it’s like for her at home. She may like working here while her family is in England so she doesn’t have to worry about them on a daily basis.”
I looked over at Marie who was still sitting on the sofa, playing with the Jelly Babies. “I cannot imagine that she is happy to be separated from her children.”
“Then maybe her husband is the problem.”
“Whatever - I wish I didn’t always have the feeling
that I need to check my back in case her knife is stuck in it. That makes me feel insecure and afraid to make a mistake, which I suspect is what she is waiting for.” I dug out my credit card and handed it to Isabella.
“You mustn’t do her that favour. Trust your instincts,” she warned me.
As I signed the credit card slip she took a paper bag and put the handbag inside. Then she pulled a Chloé logo key ring from under the counter and placed it in the paper bag as well.
“And that is a present from me. I can’t sell that one anymore anyway - it’s from last season. No, I won’t hear anything,” she said as I started to protest.
I walked around the counter and hugged her. There were few people in this world who understood me as well as Isabella did.
“Thank you,” I said solemnly.
The doorbell rang and two women entered the shop.
“Good afternoon,” Isabella greeted them cheerfully. “I’ll be with you in a moment!” She turned to me. “And now look after your sweet little darling. Don’t waste any more thoughts on ‘that’ woman.”
“Easier said than done, but I’ll try. I have to pick up Noëlle shortly, then the three of us will have a sushi lunch - they love that.”
“Ok darling. Call me.”
We kissed each other good-bye, I fetched Marie and we left the shop. My right hand held Marie’s little hand, my left one the paper bag containing my new handbag.
“Mummy, did you buy something?” Marie pointed at the paper bag.
“Yes, my love, a handbag for the office,” I explained.
“But you already have a handbag,” she stated. Hm. I had said the same thing to her when she wanted a new bag for nursery school.
“But none in this colour and every woman needs a brown bag.”
There. My five-year-old daughter was hardly going to question the authority of this statement.
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