by Maeve Haran
For the first time in months Mel was lost for words. Then she repeated faintly, so as to reassure herself of its accuracy, ‘“You’ve never actually made love”? Why ever not for God’s sake?’
‘I suppose after David I’d just lost my nerve. I wanted to take my time. I didn’t want to get hurt and I didn’t want Jamie and Daisy to be hurt either. I wanted to be sure first.’
The truth gradually dawned on Mel. ‘You mean you’re looking this good without sex?’ She pinched the cellulite on her thigh. ‘Maybe that’s where I’m going wrong.’
Liz grinned and leaned forward, feeling the sun warm her bare shoulders. ‘It isn’t just Nick. He’s part of it, of course, but it’s everything. The kids have settled in. WomanPower’s going well. I love the country. I’m happy. I’m really happy for the first time in years.’
‘And what might I ask, Cinders, is the magic formula that has reduced you from riches to rags and made you happy without even partaking of Prince Charming’s prick?’
‘It’s simple really. Or maybe very complicated. I’m not driven by work any more, that’s all. OK, so not working at all was a mistake. I ended up bitching at the children and feeling trapped. But now that I’ve got WomanPower half the week and the kids the rest, it’s bliss! Work’s part of my life but not all of it!’
Mel heard the pleasure in her voice and hugged her. Only Liz could sound this happy without being smug. This Nick must be quite a boy.
She watched her friend bend down and pull Daisy on to her knee and marvelled that this could be the same stressed-out, dark-shadowed person she’d been less than a year ago. She was calm and relaxed, more beautiful than Mel had ever seen her. And her brain hadn’t even turned to jelly. She was helping run a business.
Mel thought about her career-woman friends, tired and guilty if they had kids or deafened by the ticking of the biological clock if they put them off, and wondered, not for the first time, if Liz might have a point. It was heresy but it just might be true.
And then, unexpectedly, the thought of Britt came into her mind. She’d heard that Britt had forsworn men and was throwing herself into her work to try and get over losing the baby. Poor Britt. The stereotyped workaholic woman.
Daisy was pulling Liz’s hair and making her squeal out loud. She rolled over with the baby on the grass, a picture of relaxed and natural happiness. Mel grinned and poked her.
‘You know what you were saying about not being ready to get between the sheets?’
‘Yes.’
‘Take it from one who knows, Lizzie, you look pretty ready to me.’
‘I spent the weekend with my friend Liz Ward, you know the one who threw up her TV career for motherhood, and I think she may be on to something after all.’
Mel looked round the boardroom at the twenty Femina acolytes who had gathered for the weekly editorial meeting. She knew she was going to get burned at the stake for this, but she’d always fancied herself as a kosher St Joan.
All the same, she avoided Olivia’s eyes. She didn’t want the milk in her coffee to curdle before she got a chance to drink it.
‘Now before you all throw up, listen a second. Liz is saying something new. She isn’t saying women should all be housewives again. She’s saying that what women want is balance, not success at any price. And do you know, looking round at all of us, I think she may be right!’
She turned to the woman on her right. ‘Why did you never have kids, Marie? Scared you wouldn’t get to the top if you did? And do you ever see yours, Jane? How many nannies has Jack had, Elaine, nine is it, or was it ten? All I’m really saying is are we so sure we’ve got it cracked?’
All the way back from Liz’s, Mel had been honing an idea. And now was the time to announce it.
‘I think Femina should devote the whole of the September issue to the subject. It’d make a great cover. SUCCESS: WOMEN COUNT THE COST. Or maybe that’s too negative. How about, BALANCE: THE BUZZWORD OF THE NINETIES. It’d be great! Hey, we could do a survey, find out what women really want. It’d cause a real stir!’
Carried away with her enthusiasm Mel hadn’t noticed every face turn to the head of the table.
Olivia sat there rigid. Mel had broken the two most basic commandments of Femina. She had challenged its philosophy, and she had flouted its founder. And even if they supported her, no one dared say so.
For a fraction of a second there was total silence. And then, from the far end of the table, someone started clapping. Gradually one or two others followed, until nearly everyone round the table was joining in.
Mel leaned forward to see who had started it.
Her heart turned over and she even forgot that this round of applause had probably sealed the end of her career at Femina. Sitting at the far end of the table in a pair of crumpled blue jeans and a peach sweatshirt, his face lit up by a warm, encouraging smile, sat Garth.
It was so hot outside that Liz decided to make a picnic on the lawn. Daisy was already happily romping on the rug with Nick but Jamie, as usual, kept at a wary distance. She watched him for a moment, troubled. He didn’t like Nick. But then that was understandable. Despite their efforts to soften the blow he saw Nick as a threat, a replacement for his father.
But was he? Liz realized that she had, without even knowing it, started assessing Nick as a husband. He was so much fun to be with, the easiest man to get on with she’d ever met. Nothing seemed to ruffle the waters of his easy charm. Yet sometimes she wondered, with a vague sense of unease, if it was because he didn’t take anything seriously, not even his business. He seemed to leave all the hard work and the decision-making to Henry while he devoted himself to the really important things in life like deciding where to go for dinner.
Sometimes she wondered why Henry put up with it. But then, Henry was a dear. One of the nicest spinoffs of meeting Nick had been getting to know Henry. Kind, dependable, warm-hearted Henry who always treated the children like grandchildren. It was a pity he’d never married and had any of his own.
As she unpacked the picnic basket she suddenly realized the craziness of her position. Here she was, thinking of buying the greengrocer’s before she’d even tasted the fruit.
She looked at Nick’s lean, brown body, and the shiny dark hair that fell across those extraordinary green eyes and knew that Mel was right.
She was ready.
Suddenly she didn’t feel hungry any more. Not for food. And she saw that although he was playing with Daisy, he was watching her and that he had guessed her thoughts.
As Daisy jumped up and ran off to find Jamie he smiled at her, knowing the time had finally come.
‘Why don’t you come to my house on Saturday,’ he said casually. ‘I’ll cook for you.’ He paused, suddenly serious. ‘And you could stay the night.’
He leaned towards her, knowing she wouldn’t want him to kiss her in front of the children and held her eyes with a look so provocative that she felt the distinct yet unfamiliar itching of desire.
So that when the phone rang seconds later it was almost a relief from the unbearable tension to have to run into the house to answer it. Until she realized who it was.
‘Hello Liz, it’s David. We’ve had an offer on Holland Park. Have you got a moment to discuss it?’
Liz tried to unscramble her brain. Hearing from David at this moment of all moments seemed so screamingly inappropriate that it took her a moment to come to her senses.
‘Oh. Hello, David. Yes of course.’ Whether the gesture was deliberate or not she didn’t know but Nick had followed her in and in the cool dark of the hall he sat next to her and began, very subtly, to stroke the fingers of her free hand. She was astonished that so harmless a gesture could feel so sensual, the inside of her fingers prickled with anticipation as she tried to concentrate on what David was saying, and failed.
‘Liz. Liz? Are you all right?’
And then, three hundred miles away, David guessed. Of course. She was with someone. She sounded as though they had been making
love. He glanced at his watch. Midday. Maybe they were still in bed.
And although he knew she had every right to take a lover, certainly more right than he had, he felt a flash of jealousy so blinding that he wanted to swear at her, insult her, hurt her for speaking in that breathy, aroused voice. A voice in which she had never spoken to him.
And, without thinking, he saw a way of doing so. ‘Did I tell you, by the way, that I’ve asked Suzan Brown to come up and join me?’
‘No, David, you didn’t.’ He heard her voice harden and lose its dreamy quality and he felt a mixture of shame and satisfaction. Why had he told her that? He hadn’t even asked Suzan to join him yet, though he knew she would come if he did.
‘I hope you’ll be very happy together.’ Liz slammed down the phone leaving David smiling with a hint of what could only be described as smugness.
Liz lay back in the hot scented bath and contemplated the evening ahead. It was the strangest sensation to know that tonight would be The Night.
This was how it must have felt to shy brides, before premarital sex and double Jacuzzis, waiting for their wedding night to find out if sex was going to be a curse or a blessing.
She didn’t have any doubts on that score, but she was feeling first-night nerves all the same. What if waiting this long had blown the whole thing out of proportion and everything ended, after all, with a whimper instead of a bang? It would all have been her fault for making it into a virtual sacrament instead of just going ahead and doing what both of them wanted months ago.
She’d just have to try and forget all about it and act naturally. Pulling herself up she stepped out of the bath and wrapped herself in the huge warm towel. Sitting on the bathmat she anointed herself all over with strawberry moisture lotion from The Body Shop, and painted her toenails red.
Smiling, she kicked her white cotton knickers under the dirty linen basket and took down the ivory silk bra and briefs hanging on the back of the door. This time she was definitely going to wear them.
She reached for her atomiser of Rive Gauche and dabbed some on her wrists, behind her ears and at her throat. Then, remembering Coco Chanel’s advice that you should wear perfume where you expect to be kissed, she pulled down her silk knickers and sprayed between her legs.
Nervously, she took the green taffeta dress from its hanger and pulled it on. Even to her sceptical eyes it looked sensational. Smoothing it down as she stepped into her new green high heels she tried to pull herself together.
Act naturally. Oh yeah? If she did she’d probably get arrested.
She was ready to go just as the doorbell rang. Jamie, thank God, would be fast asleep. Her mother had come to stay for the night and she’d told Nick not to pick her up till long past his bedtime.
As she turned round she saw that she was wrong. Jamie was standing watching.
‘Why are you looking so . . .’ A look of confusion settled, as though he couldn’t think of the appropriate word.
‘Beautiful?’ prompted Liz.
‘Horrible,’ corrected Jamie. ‘You look like those girls who stand outside the station.’
He was telling her she looked like a hooker.
She swung round, angry and upset, and saw that he had guessed. He knew that something was going to happen that would change her life. And his. And he wanted to wound her for it.
She knelt down and put her arms around him and remembered that David had acted the same way. Like a small boy scared of being hurt, who tried to get in first.
As though he had anticipated her fears, Nick kept the mood light and funny all evening. He was an excellent cook and effortlessly prepared a warm salad tossed in walnut oil, and a light-as-a-feather lobster mousse while he chatted to her in his airy kitchen and she sipped white wine and tried to keep her mind on the conversation.
Afterwards they sat on opposite sofas in the sitting room and drank fresh coffee and listened to music and he still made no attempt to touch her.
Looking discreetly at her watch she wondered if perhaps he’d changed his mind, like a bridegroom who puts on his wedding suit then disappears to an unknown destination.
Just as she was beginning to feel faintly ridiculous in her taffeta dress and her silk knickers, he came and sat next to her. Gently he lifted one wrist and kissed it, drinking in the perfume. Wait till you find out where else I’ve put it, she smiled to herself and turned to look into his eyes. God she wanted him!
‘So, Mrs Ward, shall we go upstairs?’
She took his face in her hands and kissed him hard.
‘I thought you’d never ask!’
‘You may be a fan of Donne but you clearly don’t read Lord Chesterfield!’
‘And why do you?’ Liz kissed his hand again.
‘Because he gives invaluable advice on the art of seduction, which I have always tried to follow.’ He smiled teasingly. ‘Young ladies can be attempted immediately after meals. But with older matrons you are advised to leave the dinner to settle.’
Picking up a cushion Liz hit him repeatedly over the head with it until he took it away from her and carried her protesting up the staircase to bed.
CHAPTER 30
Liz lay in Nick’s carved wooden bed, her clothes strewn over the floor of the room where he had thrown them and watched him greedily as he unbuttoned his shirt and jeans.
From the first time she’d seen him at the WomanPower party she’d longed for this moment, and now that it was here she was glad they had waited. Three months ago it would have been just sex. Good, satisfying, fulfilling sex maybe. But they would still have woken as strangers, their bodies sated while their minds and hearts were still shaking hands. And as is so often the way, that might have been that.
But now tomorrow they would wake as lovers and as friends.
Smiling at her seriousness, he climbed into bed and stroked her tenderly, running his hands over the contours of her body.
Suddenly self-conscious again, she tried to pull up the sheet to hide her loose tummy, which had borne two children and unlike Yasmin Le Bon’s or Jane Fonda’s, had not regained its elasticity in two weeks or even two years.
‘Don’t’ – he pulled the sheet down and put one hand on the swell of her belly and with the other stroked her full breasts –‘I love your body. I can find my way round it.’
And after that he didn’t talk any more and neither did she. Instead she drowned herself in the tidal wave of pleasure which swept over her, and forgot everything, her lived-in body, the worries she’d had about their lovemaking, even where she was or, to her shame, who she was with.
As he licked his fingers and slipped them gently into her and bent his head to lap at that tiny point of desire, she moaned and closed her eyes, blotting out everything except that wild centre of delight as she remembered again how close pleasure can be to pain.
When finally it seemed she could stand no more, that her limits of pleasure had been reached, and gone beyond, and gone beyond again, and she had been shaken by spasm after spasm until she could feel the sweat running down between her breasts and her breath was as fast as a runner’s, somehow he knew that it was time and she felt an unexpected relief, as though now her body needed to be ridden into the ground. And so she welcomed the swift savage coupling and the final explosion of release.
And it was only after it was finished and they lay tangled in the bed that had seen lovemaking over the centuries, but never as grand as theirs, that she noticed he had slipped on a condom, which now lay wet and cold between them.
And she told herself that it was just good sense, in these dangerous days, and almost but not quite succeeded in suppressing the slight sense of insult which flickered for a second like a swan flying across the bright sunshine of her reawakening.
‘Good morning, Mrs Ward. Answer me one question. How can I make you happy?’ Liz opened her eyes to find Nick, in a Japanese kimono, smiling down at her and holding a cup of tea.
She smiled back, taking the cup from him. ‘What’s the tea? Lapsan
g Souchong or British Rail?’
‘British Rail, I’m afraid.’
‘You’ve just done it.’
‘Be serious. What would really make you happy?’
Liz was taken aback. She’d never met a man who wanted to make her happy before. Most men wanted you to make them happy, and assumed that was what would make you happy too.
‘All right then. What would make me happy?’ She took his hand in hers and held it against her cheek. She thought for a moment before answering.
‘A life where I had enough work to keep my brain alive, and enough space to enjoy my children, and fun, and sex, and food, and love, don’t let’s forget love. And gardening. I’ve got very fond of my roses. It’s one of the earliest signs of old age!’
‘Doesn’t sound too much to ask.’ He took her hand and kissed it.
‘Oh yes? So how come it’s the hardest thing in the world to achieve?’
‘It isn’t. Not now that you’ve met me.’ And he took the cup of tea out of her hand and kissed her so hard that she forgot everything except how much she wanted to believe him.
‘Ginny, have you got a moment?’ Liz put her head round the door of her office and watched Ginny saying goodbye to a young woman who was signing up with WomanPower now that her youngest child was starting school.
Liz smiled. Ginny was so good at interviewing applicants, instantly making them feel at home, always knowing if they were exaggerating their skills, and conversely – which was much harder – finding out if they had any talents they might be wasting.
Maybe it was because Ginny herself had only just discovered her own hidden talents at office life that she related so well to the hundreds of women she screened. Liz smiled. It was great to see Ginny enjoying her work so much and being so obviously good at it. And she and Ginny had found a natural division of labour. Ginny with her open friendliness recruited the women and Liz with her business skills found the employers and drummed up new business. Every now and then Liz knew that she yearned for the kind of creative outlet that making programmes had given her. But life was never perfect, and she could always be creative with Jamie and Daisy. The wall of their playroom testified to that.