A Wild Affair: A Novel

by Gemma Townley

  And suddenly I was beaming ear-to-ear; I felt a lightness I hadn't known for ages. I knew it wasn't much, not in the great scheme of things, but this little victory made me feel stronger suddenly, made me feel that everything wasn't hopeless after all. “How can I ever thank you?” I asked incredulously.

  “You don't have to.” Caroline shrugged. “Like I said, it's me that's the grateful one. Consider this a little thank-you gift for giving me the job in the first place.”

  “Best decision I ever made,” I said, reaching over to give her a hug. “You're the best assistant I could have asked for.”

  Caroline blushed and returned the hug. I took out some cash and put it on the table. “Right,” I said, “there's somewhere I have to go. You settle up, then go back to the office and man my phone, okay? I'm not sure when I'll be back, but I'll keep in touch.”

  “You're going to talk to Max?” Caroline asked.

  “Nearly, but not quite,” I said, standing up. “I'm going to talk to the one person who can turn all of this around. I'm going to go and talk to Chester.”

  Chapter 19

  CHESTER RYDALL WORKED in a very tall building in Canary Wharf, a strange outpost of London that was filled with skyscrapers housing bankers, fund managers, and analysts, people with serious expressions and even more serious suits. It felt a bit like a film set—like a slightly glossier, cleaner, better version of London, but one that lacked a certain soul, lacked a close link with reality. After studying the map outside the tube station, I made a couple of false starts then eventually found myself outside Jarvis Tower. It was immense. The reception area alone could have housed fifteen Milton Advertisings. Maybe even twenty. Rehearsing my little prepared speech over and over in my head, I walked toward the doors.

  “Can I help you?” a voice asked. I turned, irritated at the security guard blocking my entrance.

  “I'm here to see Chester. Chester Rydall,” I said, forcing a smile.

  “And you've got an appointment?”

  I smiled, patronizingly. “Actually, I don't need one,” I said.

  “Everyone needs an appointment. Otherwise we can't let you in.”

  I smiled. “Chester Rydall is marrying my mother. He's also my former client and the only man who can save my upcoming marriage to the man I love more than anything in the world and whose life has been wrecked by a stupid, stupid mistake which I made and which I now intend to rectify. Only I can't rectify it unless you'll let me through these doors so I can tell Chester the truth and sort everything out. Okay?”

  The guard looked slightly taken aback and stepped away. “He's on the thirtieth floor,” he said. “You'll need to get a security pass from reception.”

  “Thank you,” I said, slightly surprised. I'd been preparing for more of a fight; adrenaline was zipping around my body madly. “Thank you very much.”

  The doors opened in front of me and I walked into a large room where people were buzzing around everywhere, holding little meetings, huddled around low tables. Taking a deep breath, I walked up to the reception desk and asked for Chester Rydall.

  “Chester Rydall is not here at present. Is he expecting you?” The girl in front of me looked at me expectantly.

  I shook my head. “Is he … Do you know when he'll be back?” I asked. Of course he was busy. Had I really thought I'd just walk in and find him sitting around reading a newspaper?

  “I don't have that information. Do you have an appointment with Mr. Rydall? Can I ask which company you're from?”

  I shook my head. “Milton Advertising. And no, I don't have an appointment—I wanted to surprise him,” I said wearily. “Can I maybe leave a message?”

  The girl nodded. “You want to leave him your business card?”

  “No.” I frowned. “Not a business card. A message. A letter. I can write it, if you have some paper.”

  The girl looked at me warily. “A letter?”

  “Yes, a letter,” I said impatiently. “If I write it, can you make sure he gets it? I mean that only he gets it, and no one else. Can you promise me that?”

  “I can get a message to him, yes.”

  I looked at the girl suspiciously; she was smiling at me a little bit too sweetly, like I'd imagine bank tellers do when they've pressed the panic button.

  “Actually I'd rather just see him for myself. Can you tell me where Chester is, please?”

  She smiled again. “I'm afraid I don't have that information.”

  “Don't have it or won't give it to me?”

  “Don't and won't,” she said, her smile fading slightly.

  “I see.” I leaned over the desk and touched her shoulder, reading her name badge as I did so. “Well, Sue, that's a shame. Because I really need to get a message to Chester. And I don't trust you to get it to him. So I'm going to need you to tell me where he is. Otherwise I'm going to cause a big scene in your pristine reception area and then I'm going to make it my mission in life to ensure that you never get anywhere in your receptionist career …”

  I didn't get to the end of that sentence, unfortunately. Two men in uniforms arrived and maneuvered me out of the building. Turns out she had pressed the panic button, or whatever receptionists press when they think they have a dangerous stalker on the premises.

  “Right,” one of the security guards said, dumping me on the pavement outside. “If there's any more trouble from you, we'll be calling the police, do you understand? We take threats on our staff very seriously at Jarvis Private Banking.”

  “I didn't threaten her,” I said irritably. “I wanted to see Chester Rydall and she wasn't particularly helpful.”

  “And I'd like to meet the queen,” the guard said. “Doesn't mean I go barging into Buckingham Palace making life difficult for people, does it?”

  They left, and I saw the security guard who'd let me in initially look at me, then at the other security guards, disappointment splashed all over his face. And somehow, that look cut right through me. Because it hit the nail on the head. I was a disappointment—to Max, to Chester, to myself. I'd let everyone down. I was taking out my anger on innocent bystanders, trying to blame anyone and everyone else. But the only person really at fault was me. I didn't even know what I was doing here—what had I been thinking? That I'd storm into the boardroom and save the day? There was no saving to be done; no quick fix to right my wrongs. I would come clean, but it wouldn't be triumphant. Things would still be terrible, and I would still be responsible for them.

  Instead, my shoulders slumping, I walked away from the building and wandered down the road toward the tube station, trying to work out what to do next. I needed to tell Chester the truth, and I needed to do it now. And then I remembered something. I knew where he lived. He'd told me, weeks ago, when I'd had to courier something over to him on the weekend. I couldn't leave a letter for him at Jarvis where anyone might read it, but I could leave one for him at his house.

  So that's where I went next. I hopped on the tube, and when I got off at Bayswater, I stopped at a stationery shop and bought some paper and an envelope and a pen. And then I found a café, where I bought a coffee, a huge croissant, and some water (I hadn't realized until the episode at Jarvis Private Banking just what half a bottle of wine can do to you when you drink it on an empty stomach; now I was feeling headachey and dehydrated and embarrassed in that slightly stomach-churning way that usually kicks in when you wake up the morning after a big night), and sat down to compose a letter, the most important letter I'd probably ever written.

  And when I'd finished it, when I'd rewritten it about fifty times and finally come up with something that I felt was not too long, groveling but not cloying, heartfelt but not sickly sweet, when I felt that I'd made a compelling argument for abandoning all contact with Hugh Barter and reinstating Milton Advertising as the real partner for the Project Handbag campaign, with Max at the helm and Caroline ably assisting, I folded it up and put it in an envelope, and made my way to number 23 Hereford Road where I put the letter through th
e slot in the door and slowly turned to make my way home. Once there, I resolved, I would tell Max I loved him, then I would pack up my things and leave, leave him to a better future without me, leave him with his reputation and his company restored.

  I had barely stepped off the front step when I heard the door open and a familiar voice call out.

  “Jess? Jessica, is that you? I thought I heard someone. Why didn't you tell me you were coming?”

  I turned around in surprise. It was my mother, standing behind the open door. Which hadn't been part of my plan. Hadn't been part of it at all.

  “Oh. Hi,” I said uncertainly, picking the letter up off the doormat where it had fallen. “Sorry, I didn't expect to find you here …” I cleared my throat. “Um, I just … Look, I just wanted to leave this for Chester.”

  “A letter?” My mother took the envelope from me quizzically. “You came all this way to drop this off?”

  I nodded tightly.

  “You'll come in for some tea at least?” She held the door open wider.

  I bit my lip. “Actually I can't. I've really got to go. Got to find Max.”

  “Find him? You've lost him?”

  Her words cut through me. I hadn't accepted it until now, but I had lost him. Tears started to prick at my eyes. “Kind of.” I nodded, not wanting to tell her anything, but not able to keep myself from babbling. “He's … he's going through a really tough time. My fault really. Well, that's sort of what the letter's about. If you could make sure Chester gets it?”

  I turned to leave, but she stopped me, her arm reaching out toward me. “He'll be home soon. Why don't you stay? Just a cup of tea? We never did catch up, did we?”

  “No,” I said, moving away. “No, we didn't. But now's not the time.”

  “No,” she said, looking downcast. “No, of course.”

  I looked at her for a moment. “Look, things seem to be working out for you. You've got Chester, you're settling down. I just can't … I can't be a part of it. That's all.”

  “I'm sorry, Jessica,” she said, reaching out again, her hand hanging uncomfortably in midair, looking for somewhere to land. She laughed sadly. “I seem to say that to you rather a lot, don't I. But I am sorry, Jessica. I didn't want to choose between you and Chester but …”

  “But you did,” I said flatly. “And to be honest, you probably made the right choice.”

  “I have been trying to make him see sense,” she said quietly. “You're my daughter. We should be spending time together, planning our weddings together. I have told him that …”

  I stared at her in disbelief. “Planning our weddings? You just don't get it, do you?”

  “Get what, darling?”

  I moved away. I could barely bring myself to say the words. “There is no wedding.”

  “No wedding? Whatever do you mean?” Her voice was faltering slightly, and I was going to leave, just walk away, but then I realized I couldn't. This might be my last chance—my only chance—to tell her the truth. So I moved slightly closer to her so I wouldn't have to raise my voice, because if I had to raise my voice it would go shrill and wobbly and I wasn't going to have that. Not now.

  “There is no wedding,” I said, my voice low and bitter. “Max and I aren't getting married because he's broken, because he thinks he's got nothing to offer me. Not that I want anything, but it matters to him that he's successful and right now he feels like a complete failure. Anthony came back and told him he'd ruined the company which, you can imagine, went down fabulously. And in the meantime, Hugh Barter has poached most of our staff, just to make sure that Milton doesn't have any hope of dusting itself off and starting again. So thanks for all your support—I mean it's been really helpful having you around. But I'm sure you'll understand if I say no to coming in. I've got a wedding to cancel. Again. Third time, actually. What's the line? One time is unfortunate, twice looks like carelessness … what's three times? Stupidity? Desperation? Insanity? Probably all of them.”

  “He doesn't want to marry you anymore? Well, silly old him. He's the one who's losing out, Jessica.”

  I laughed then, a bitter laugh that came out from the bottom of my stomach. “What, and someone else will turn up soon enough? Mum, I'm not like you. There is no one else. There has never been anyone else and never will be. I can't drift from man to man—I found Max, and he's the one. And he isn't losing out. I am. I will lose out forever.”

  I ran my hand through my hair; I could feel my eyes flashing, my knees locking beneath me.

  “I was just trying to cheer you up, darling. I do understand. I know you love Max very much.”

  “No, you don't understand,” I said. “Because you don't know what love is. I don't think you've ever loved anyone in your whole life. You certainly don't love me. And who knows if you really love Chester. Nice rich man who can look after you. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if you tracked me down not because I'm getting married but because you heard about the inheritance. Thought you'd sting me for a bit of cash, huh? Well, you've got it now. So unless you want more, unless you were hoping for another fat check, you can just get the hell out of my life, because ever since you came back into it things have gone from bad to worse.”

  I turned around and started to walk away.

  “Wait,” she called after me. “Wait, Jess, it isn't like that.”

  But I wasn't listening; I was too busy wiping away the tears that were rolling down my face. It was over. It was all over. Before the day was out, Max would know the truth and the happiness I'd carved out for myself over the past few months, the happiness I'd never expected or even dared hope for, would be gone forever.

  My phone rang and I was going to let it ring, but then I realized that today was the day for facing up to things, and to people, and that leaving it unanswered would be a bad way to go. So I grabbed it out of my bag, hoping Max's name would flash up. But it was an unknown number. Chester maybe? Warily, I opened it and brought it to my ear.

  “Jessica? Jessica dear?” It was a woman's voice, one I recognized but couldn't place.

  “Yes, speaking,”

  “Dear, it's Vanessa. From the Wedding Dress Shop. I was expecting you here half an hour ago for your final fitting.”

  I didn't say anything for a few seconds.

  “Dear? You are coming, aren't you?”

  I opened my mouth to speak, but still no words came.

  “Only the alterations are finished. I really think you need to try it on one last time before the big day.”

  “The big day?” I heard myself say.

  “That's right, dear. There is going to be a big day, isn't there?”

  I took a deep breath. “Um …”

  “Oh dear. Oh, you don't mean to tell me that the wedding is …”

  “Off,” I said, taking a handkerchief out of my pocket and blowing my nose loudly.

  I couldn't believe I wasn't going to wear the dress after all. Every time I had put it on I felt like someone else, someone better, a real-life princess in a real-life fairy tale. Except the fairy tale was over now; I'd succumbed to the dark side, had lost my prince charming for good.

  “So the wedding isn't … I mean, you don't think you might …” Her hesitations were full of hope, and for a moment I wanted to let her think that things might turn out all right after all, but I knew they wouldn't.

  “I don't think so, not this time,” I managed to say. “I'll pay for all the alterations, of course.”

  “Alterations? Oh, forget about them. I just really thought, this time, that you … I thought you'd found happiness.”

  “I had,” I said miserably. “And I threw it away. With the help of a bastard called Hugh Barter.”

  Vanessa sighed. “You can't blame yourself entirely,” she said. “After all, it usually takes two to tango.”

  “Not in this case.”

  “Ah.”

  I took a deep breath. “Thanks, Vanessa. For everything. And I'm sorry things didn't turn out … you know, how they're suppos
ed to.”

  “You're welcome, Jessica. It's been a pleasure. A strange experience, but a pleasure all the same. And whenever you need it, your dress will be waiting for you. After all, you never know, do you?”

  I smiled sadly. “I think I do know, but thanks all the same.”

  Chapter 20

  I WENT STRAIGHT HOME. And it was only as I climbed the stairs to the apartment that I realized that soon it wouldn't be my home anymore. I'd have to get my own place. I could hardly move into Grace's house, all alone in the country Maybe I'd have to buy somewhere on my own. I had enough money after all. I frowned uncomfortably—that sounded far too final. No, I'd move back in with Helen, spending my Saturday nights trying to avoid having to go to some loud, boring party. Everything would be just like it was before Max. Except it would be different, worse, more empty because I'd know what I'd lost, would know what I was missing.

  Bracing myself, I walked slowly, tentatively, toward the apartment's front door, took out my key, and opened it. The lights were off; Max wasn't home. I would wait for him, I decided, wait until he got back. And then, in as few words as possible, with no hysterics, no tears or emotional blackmail, I'd tell him what I'd done. Then I would pack up my things and go.

  No, bad idea. I'd pack up my things now, before he got home—that way I wouldn't have to stay any longer than was absolutely necessary.

  Except I wanted to stay. Having to pack would give me an excuse to stay longer. And anyway, if Max saw my stuff all packed up he'd think I wanted to go; the whole conversation would go very differently, because he'd know that I'd packed my stuff up to leave him.

  Fine, I'd pack afterward. And if it was awkward, if it was horrible, I'd leave my stuff, come back another time. Maybe in the meantime I'd just grab some of the essentials, have them ready in a carrier bag so I could make a swift exit. Toothbrush, a few pairs of underwear, that sort of thing.