A French Affair

by Susan Lewis

  Charlie was waiting in front of the lifts with Melissa, still wearing his studio make-up and carrying the earpiece which he’d forgotten to hand back to the sound guy as they’d come off air. With them was a handful of delegates from the conference who’d stayed up late either drinking or continuing private debate, before everything started up again in the morning. The crew was nowhere in evidence, since they’d barely had time to wrap yet, while the producers were still signing off with their counterparts in London, who’d now taken over transmission.

  When the lift came Charlie stood aside for Melissa and the delegates to step in ahead of him. He intended to let the doors close and make his escape without having to come up with an excuse that she’d probably see through immediately. However, it wasn’t to be. A grey-bearded man with kindly eyes pressed the hold button to make sure no-one was left behind.

  As the lift started to rise Charlie exchanged small talk with the delegates, managing to sound pleasant and friendly, even though he was tired and querulous and angry with himself for being in this position without even knowing how he’d managed to get here. He thought of Jessica and Lilian who were probably asleep by now, and Harry staying over with his friend, and Nikki . . . Perhaps he wouldn’t think about Nikki, considering what she might be up to . . .

  ‘By the way, have you rescheduled the presenters’ meeting?’ he asked Melissa, who was only partly visible behind the suited men.

  ‘Yes, haven’t you been told?’ she replied. ‘It’s at seven thirty in the morning, before I fly back to London.’

  Surprised, he said, ‘You’re flying back early?’

  ‘I’ve achieved what I came here for, and since I’ve been asked to speak at a forum on the future of news media tomorrow night, I have to get back.’

  ‘That’s very last minute,’ he commented.

  ‘Apparently the ITN chap’s had to cry off.’

  The lift stopped and there was a general murmur of goodnight as the delegates got out.

  When the doors slid closed again Melissa remained in the far corner, gazing up at the numbered lights. Since both their suites were on the same floor, he was already feeling anxious about what was going to happen when they got out.

  ‘I wonder if there are any hidden cameras,’ she said as the lift started to go up again. ‘I can’t see any, can you?’

  Charlie looked around, saying nothing, though his heart was sinking for he had a horrible suspicion of where this was leading.

  ‘Could it be worth the risk?’ she said, tilting her head curiously to one side.

  His eyes flitted across the glittering black halter top that was cleaving gamely to as much of her breasts as it could.

  ‘Probably not,’ she decided. Then with a saucy look at him, ‘Do you remember what they look like, Charlie? Would you like to touch them now? Would you dare?’

  ‘Melissa . . .’

  To his relief the lift came to a stop and as he stepped out behind her he was preparing to tell her he needed to go and check on Nikki when she said, ‘It’s very kind of you to see me to my room. If you’d like to come in for a nightcap . . .’

  ‘No really, that’s fine,’ he said. ‘I’m dead beat. Ready to hit the sack.’

  Her eyes were laughing as she looked up at him. ‘Charlie,’ she said softly, ‘why are you being so hard on yourself?’

  He could feel the colour suffusing his neck as he said, ‘Melissa, you’ve got this all wrong . . .’

  Putting a finger over his lips she said, ‘Darling, we both know you want this, so don’t let’s keep fooling ourselves. Now relax. Let go of everything you’ve got going on up here,’ she tapped the side of his head, ‘then everything down here will take care of itself.’

  He took a step back as she made to touch him, and felt more tense than ever as she laughed. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said in a strangled voice, ‘it’s not that I don’t find you attractive – you know I do, but Nikki’s here in the hotel, and it just doesn’t seem right.’

  Her eyebrows arched, but before she could speak his mobile started to ring.

  ‘And now I suppose,’ she drawled, ‘you’re going to answer that.’

  Seeing it was Jessica and thinking immediately of Harry, he said, ‘I have to.’

  Her smile turned slightly glacial as she took the key from her purse and inserted it into her door.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, but she didn’t respond, and he was already clicking on to answer.

  ‘Hi darling,’ Jessica said sleepily. ‘Is everything OK?’

  ‘I think I’m the one who should be asking you that,’ he replied, walking on down the corridor. ‘Why are you calling so late?’

  She yawned. ‘Good question. Why am I? Oh yes, Nikki wants you to know that she and Freddy have sealed their relationship.’

  ‘Sealed?’

  Jessica’s tone was sardonic as she said, ‘That’s the most tactful way I can put it.’

  ‘Oh, I see,’ he said stiffly. Then, letting himself into his own suite, ‘So am I expected to go and congratulate them?’

  She laughed. ‘No, I don’t think so.’

  Belatedly realising how absurd his question had been, he laughed too. ‘Are you OK?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, I’m fine. Loving having Lilian here. I only wish she could stay longer, but don’t tell her I said that or she’ll get a fit of the guilts. She thinks we need a holiday, just us two.’

  He hesitated, not quite sure how to respond to that. It wasn’t that he didn’t want it, he was just afraid of what a disaster it could be.

  ‘Not grabbing you?’ she said.

  Though her tone had remained light, he knew she was hurt, so he quickly said, ‘I was just thinking of somewhere we could go. The Maldives? Sri Lanka? What about Sicily? We had a wonderful time there on one of our anniversaries, do you remember?’

  ‘It was our fifteenth – and of course I remember. Anyway, we can discuss it when you’re back. Do you and Nikki need picking up from the airport? I guess I should offer a lift to Melissa too, as she’s coming this way.’

  ‘She’s flying back to London first thing, and I think cars have been booked for the rest of us.’

  ‘OK. Then I’ll see you around eight tomorrow evening, but I’ll probably speak to you in the morning. Sleep well.’

  ‘You too.’

  After ringing off he dropped the phone on the bed, then sat down next to it and covered his face with his hands. He was tired, hungry and so torn apart inside he barely even knew what he was thinking any more. If only he could heed the advice Melissa had given him a few minutes ago, and let go of the turmoil inside his head, then everything else might very well take care of itself. However, it seemed he had no control over the guilt that was consuming him, or the blame, or the sense of helplessness and shame, because as far as he was concerned his daughter was dead because of him, and no matter how hard he tried to tell himself there was nothing he could have done to prevent it, he knew that nothing was ever going to make him believe it.

  Chapter Seven

  ‘I’M OFF,’ JESSICA called up the stairs.

  ‘Good luck,’ Charlie shouted back. ‘Call me when it’s over, let me know how you got on.’

  Experiencing a few gentle flutters of excitement, Jessica picked up the Prada briefcase Charlie had given her at Christmas, checked she had change for the tube, then closing the front door behind her, she started off down the street towards the underground station. It was a little breezy, though still wonderfully warm, and feeling the sun on her skin was as pleasing as the scent of jasmine that wafted to her as she passed the Kingsleys’ house on the corner.

  Nikki had chosen her outfit for today, and since they’d all acquired a bit of a tan at the weekend, it hadn’t taken much to persuade Jessica to show off her legs a little in a dusky pink over-the-knee pleated skirt with matching short jacket and plain white boob tube, though she’d drawn the line at the stiletto sandals that went with it. They were OK for evening, but not for lunch in the middle o
f the day. So in the comfort of a pair of silver ballet pumps, she was soon descending the steps into Notting Hill station.

  Though she’d intended to spend the entire weekend preparing her biography project for this lunch with Karina, it hadn’t quite turned out that way, thanks to the celebrity cricket match which she’d forgotten Charlie was playing in on Sunday. There had been no getting out of it, even if she’d wanted to, for Harry was dead set on going, and since Freddy was on the team too, Nikki had made it very plain that she would never be forgiven if she tried to back out.

  In fact, she’d really enjoyed it, relaxing in the sun, catching up with old friends who’d offered their condolences at the time so no need to go there again, and watching Nikki’s eyes shine every time she looked at Freddy. In a way he reminded Jessica of a young Charlie, with his shock of shiny blond hair, light, humorous eyes and long gangly limbs. She suspected Charlie had noticed the likeness too, or maybe he just felt genuinely paternal towards the extremely likeable cub reporter.

  When the match was over – which they’d lost – Charlie had invited everyone back to their place for drinks, though thankfully not everyone had accepted. As it turned out, they’d been an impromptu party of fifteen, until Harry became bored with the adult company and took himself off to his room with a friend, while Nikki and Freddy didn’t hang about the garden for long either. Being in the first throes of romance, they preferred to go and watch DVDs in the den with no-one else around.

  So all in all it had been an extremely pleasurable day, which had gone on until quite late in the evening, and in its way it had seemed to bring her and Charlie a little closer again. Not that anything had been said, or done, it was simply a feeling she had, and as she resurfaced at Green Park station she was aware of a great flood of affection for him sweeping through her. She might even have allowed herself to smile were she not alone in public, but not wanting to draw any more attention to herself than her small amount of fame and slender legs were already managing, she maintained a neutral expression and decided to go shopping as soon as this lunch was over to find something for him, just to let him know she’d been thinking about him.

  ‘Hi, Charlie, it’s Maggie,’ his assistant said into the phone.

  ‘Hi, Mags, how’s everything your end?’

  ‘Fine,’ she replied. ‘I’ve just sent you an email with details of the interviews you’re doing next week . . .’

  ‘For the Middle East series?’

  ‘Yep. And I’ve attached the information you requested on nuclear energy. Ken Gordon’s available to direct that documentary, by the way, which I expect will please you.’

  ‘It does,’ he confirmed, and scooted his chair away from the computer over to Jessica’s desk to rummage around for the chequebook. ‘I’m in the office tomorrow, aren’t I?’ he said. ‘See if he’s available to drop in for a chat.’

  ‘Will do. Anyway, I thought you might like to know that I’ve just had a call from Melissa’s new PA asking if we can send over the interview you did in Paris with Riad al-Turk, the Syrian Opposition Leader.’

  Charlie’s chair came to a stop halfway back to his desk. ‘Really?’ he said, his tone conveying how unimpressed he was to hear that, even though he wasn’t entirely surprised. ‘What answer did you give?’

  ‘That it still isn’t edited, because it isn’t, and that I can’t allow any of our material to go anywhere unless I’ve cleared it with you first.’

  ‘And what was the response to that?’

  ‘She said she’d get more details from Melissa and call me back. Incidentally, you’re booked in to edit it at the weekend, just in case you want me to tell them it’ll be ready by Monday.’

  ‘No, if she calls again tell her I’ll speak to Melissa about it myself. Anything else?’

  ‘Nope. That’s it for now.’

  ‘OK, I’m due at the studios in a couple of hours, you can reach me there if you need to,’ and ringing off he quickly wrote out a cheque for Harry’s autumn term fees, then went out into the hall to collect the mail he’d just heard drop through the door.

  As he returned to the study he could feel himself becoming increasingly angry about the way Melissa had checked up on him, as though he was lying about why he’d been in Paris at Easter, though God only knew why she thought he would. He felt so incensed by it that he set the mail aside and picked up the phone to call her. Not surprisingly her mobile was switched off, presumably because she was at lunch somewhere, so after the answer message had finished he said, tersely, ‘Melissa, I’d like to see you in my dressing room at two thirty. I think you know what it’s about,’ and punching an end to the call, he dropped the phone back on the desk and returned to the mail.

  It was a stack of bank statements, bills and insurance offers, along with a reminder from the London Review of Books that Jessica’s subscription was about to run out. There was also a medium-sized white envelope addressed to him, written in a hand he didn’t exactly recognise, though it seemed familiar, and realising whose it could be his insides turned to liquid.

  His mouth was set in a tight, grim line as he tore the envelope open. Another, smaller one, fell out and he picked it up to find it unsealed and addressed to Jessica, while the pages he drew out after it were clearly for him.

  Dearest Charlie,

  I am writing to you now because the strangest thing has happened to me. Would you believe, darling, I was in London for my usual annual check-ups and a spot of shopping when the next thing I knew I was waking up in a rather glum little hospital bed. (Actually it wasn’t so bad really, the people around me were very sweet and friendly, when they were awake, and the doctor was deliciously strict and even rather good-looking in a doctorly sort of way, but I wasn’t sorry when Maurice popped in and had me moved to where I am now.)

  Anyway, the reason I’m here is because it seems I had a little collapse in Bond Street as I was going into Fenwicks and in all the kerfuffle of getting the ambulance and carting me off to emergency some pesky little rascal stole my handbag, so no-one knew who I was, or who to be in touch with, until I came round.

  Forgive me for not telling them about you and Jessica, darling, but I didn’t want to be a bother to her, particularly after everything that’s happened, and to be honest, I wasn’t feeling quite up to dealing with her now she hates me so much. So, I called dear Maurice who came right away, and he’s been such a sweetheart ever since with all his flowers and chocolates, and just sitting next to me so I don’t feel too alone.

  He’s taking me home in the next couple of days, and then we’re going off to his gorgeous villa in Italy for a while so I can have a bit of a rest. I don’t want you to worry about me, darling, because I’m feeling very much better now, though I don’t mind admitting the whole thing has given me a bit of a scare. I suppose it’s because of that that I decided I had to write down everything that happened that day in France when we lost our dear little angel. You see, I don’t really want to pop off with it all still on my conscience – not that I’m planning to go anywhere yet, you understand, but just in case something like it happens again and I don’t manage to come bouncing back.

  It is all in the letter I’m enclosing for Jessica, which I’ve left unsealed so you can read it first. It will then be for you to decide, dear Charlie, whether or not she should see it. I know how devastating it’s going to be for her – for you all – so if you choose to keep the letter to yourself, or even destroy it, I will understand perfectly.

  I’m truly sorry, Charlie, for the burden I’m putting on you now, and for the pain it’s going to cause you. I know how hard you’ve found it to come to terms with the loss, and I don’t suppose this is going to help at all. I only wish I didn’t feel so compelled to do it, but I hope you will understand why I must.

  Well, I guess that’s about it. All being well I will have left here by the time you receive this letter, so you won’t have to bother about coming to see me, or doing your duty in any other way. Rest assured, I’m very much better
now, and I have every intention of staying that way.

  Please give Nikki and Harry lots of huge hugs from me – Jessica too, of course, but you’d better just think of me when you do it, rather than tell her, because I don’t think she’ll want them. A big hug to you too, of course.

  With love as ever,

  Veronica

  Charlie’s face was chalk-white as he put his own letter aside, slid the one for Jessica from its envelope and started to read.

  There were twelve pages in all, some apologising for the kind of mother Veronica had been, others relating a few more details about the ‘little collapse’ in Bond Street, but the essential part of the letter described what had happened at the grape-picker’s cottage the day Natalie had died.

  Even before he finished reading he knew he could never let Jessica see this. The damage it would do could hardly be measured, but nor could he bring himself to destroy it, at least not right now. So, with badly shaking hands and a heart ripping apart with horror, he tucked the letter into his pocket and tried to summon the strength to pick up the phone. He needed to call Rufus Keane to let him know he’d heard from Veronica. First, though, he must try to get hold of Veronica herself.

  He wasn’t surprised when her machine picked up, so he left a message asking her to get in touch as soon as possible so he could be sure that her ‘little collapse’ wasn’t more serious than she was telling. He mentioned nothing about the contents of her letter to Jessica: Veronica clearly knew she wasn’t to blame for what had happened so he had no reason to reassure her, and there were no other words he could bring himself to utter aloud.

  For several minutes after the call he stayed where he was, seeing and hearing nothing, barely even thinking, until finally, rigid with pain, he dragged himself upstairs to sit on Natalie’s bed. He didn’t want to fall apart now, for Jessica’s sake as well as his own, but with this letter in his pocket containing all the details of what had happened to his precious girl, the whole nightmare of it right there in black and white, he couldn’t hold on any longer. Within seconds he was starting to gulp for air, as though suffocating under the dreadful weight of his torment.