by Jill Mansell
“Yes, it was crazy.” Alan nodded, his expression regretful. “I know that now, but at the time I think I was a little bit crazy myself. It was a kind of self-torture, and I couldn’t break the cycle. The more I thought about it, the more real it became. And the fact that you seemed happy no longer counted for anything, because I’d convinced myself that you were only putting on some elaborate act for my benefit. You read about it all the time in the papers; it happens every day, for God’s sake. Perfect couples with apparently perfect marriages, except they aren’t perfect at all. Suddenly, out of the blue, the wife or husband says they can’t stand it anymore. They hire a hit man or simply up and leave with their secret lover. Janey, it got so bad I had to get away. I didn’t want to go, but it seemed like the only option left to me. You have to try and understand, sweetheart. I was desperate.”
Wordlessly, she held out her glass and watched Alan refill it. He still wore Pepe jeans, still moved with that same casual, confident grace. He had always exuded such an air of confidence; how could she possibly have known that beneath the surface lurked a maelstrom of insecurity and self-doubt?
The brandy was no longer lacerating her throat. This time it slipped down like warm honey. “You should have asked me,” she said, tears prickling the back of her eyes. “If you’d told me how you felt, I could have—”
“I didn’t want to hear it,” Alan interjected, his own eyes filled with pain. “Don’t you see, Janey? If you’d reassured me, I would only have convinced myself you were lying. And that would have been almost as unbearable as hearing you say you didn’t love me.”
“Oh God.” With a trembling hand, Janey covered her face. What he was telling her made an awful kind of sense. Such paranoid beliefs, once they took a hold, made reassurance impossible. “You should have gone to see a doctor.”
“I did. After I’d, um, left.” Alan gave her a crooked half smile. “And a world of good that did me too. He said that, in his experience, any man who harbored suspicions about his wife most probably had every right to do so. Then he told me that his own wife had walked out on him three weeks earlier, and it wasn’t until she’d gone that he found out she’d been having an affair with their dentist for the past five years.”
“I wasn’t having an affair,” said Janey, her voice beginning to break. “I would never have done anything like that. Never.”
“Yes, well.” He dismissed the protest with a shrug. “You can understand it didn’t help.”
Janey could understand that such a bloody useless doctor should be struck off the medical register. She shuddered at the thought of the damage he might have inflicted on countless innocent people.
“Are you still cold?” Alan patted the empty cushion on the settee. “Why don’t you come over here, sweetheart? Sit by me.”
But Janey needed to hear everything first. There were nearly two whole years separating them, two blank years in which anything might have happened. She couldn’t relax until she knew it all. She also needed more brandy…
“Where did you go?” she pleaded, suddenly desperate to get it over with. “Where have you been living? What have you been doing?”
His smile was bleak. “Existing. Trying to stop loving you. Telling myself a million times that I’d been a complete fool who’d made the worst mistake of his life, but that it was too late to go back.” He stopped for a second, gazing into space and swallowing hard. “I’m sorry, Janey. Here I go again, moaning on about my own stupid feelings when what you want to hear are the facts. OK, well, they aren’t exactly riveting, but here goes. I hitchhiked to Edinburgh, did a bit of bar work, got myself a filthy little studio apartment, and spent most of my spare time shaking cockroaches out of the duvet. After a few months, when I couldn’t stand the place a moment longer, I traveled down to Manchester. That was just as awful, but the customers had different accents, and at least the pub employed bouncers to break up the fights, instead of expecting me to tackle them myself.”
Janey shuddered. “That scar on your forehead…?”
“A bloody great Scotsman with fourteen pints of lager inside him and a broken bottle in each fist.” He touched the scar as if to remind himself. “I was lucky. One of the other barmen almost died.”
Janey bit her lower lip. Alan could have died. She had thought he was dead…
“Go on. How long were you in Manchester?”
He thought for a moment. “Three, four months? Then I moved down to London. Another lousy studio apartment, another family of cockroaches to get to know. I did some casual work here and there when I could get it, but it was pretty much of a hand-to-mouth existence. Not to mention lonely.”
“But you must have met people, made new friends?”
“I didn’t want to,” he replied simply. “I didn’t think I deserved any. Unless I was working, there were times when I didn’t even speak to a soul for days on end. London’s like that; you can almost begin to believe you no longer exist.”
“Girlfriends?” said Janey, needing to know. It had been almost two years, after all.
But Alan smiled and shook his head. “Hadn’t I suffered enough? Janey, my feelings for you were what got me into this mess in the first place. I was hardly going to risk it again, was I? Besides,” he added sadly, “I was still in love with you. I didn’t want anyone else. And even if I had, it would have been too much of a betrayal.”
“And now you’re back.” Janey still felt as if she were in suspended animation. It was a curious feeling, like one of those near-death experiences people reported, when they hovered on the ceiling and gazed down at their own lifeless bodies. She had no idea of the time, no conception of what she might say or do next. It was as if all this were happening to somebody else.
Alan nodded. Again, the hesitant half smile. “I’m back.”
“Why?”
He took a deep breath. “Please let me get it all out in one go. Wait until I’ve finished before you say anything. I haven’t been able to stop loving you, Janey. I tried, but it didn’t work. I’ve no idea how you feel about me now. I don’t know, maybe you’ve put the past behind you, met someone else, and forgotten you even knew me…but I had to find out. I need to know if you do still care for me. And if you can ever forgive me. I have to know whether there’s a chance for us to carry on as we were before. As husband and wife.”
He looked so unsure of himself, so scared of what she might say. Only sheer desperation had given him the strength to admit his own weakness and declare his feelings for her with such heartrending honesty. And he had always been the stronger partner in the past, thought Janey, so seemingly secure and laid-back with his devil-may-care attitudes and freewheeling lifestyle.
But he hadn’t been secure at all, she realized; he had needed her, more than she had ever imagined. He hadn’t abandoned her for another woman either. Nor had he ever stopped loving her. And now he needed understanding, love, and forgiveness in return.
It’s like a dream come true, Janey realized hazily. Tears were beginning to roll down her cheeks, and she thought, How stupid, to cry now. This is the happiest night of my life.
“Of course we can carry on,” she said, rising unsteadily to her feet. The tears fell faster as Alan came toward her, his expression one of joy mingled with relief.
“You don’t know how much this means to me,” he murmured, his mouth grazing her wet cheek. “I wouldn’t have been able to bear it if you’d said no. The scariest part was not knowing whether you’d met someone else.”
Janey, breathing in the wonderful familiarity of him, closed her eyes. “There’s no one else,” she whispered, stroking his hair and reveling in the sensation of his warm hands against her back. “There’s never been anybody else. Only you.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
“Oh good!” said Maxine when Cindy finally picked up the phone. “You’re there.”
“It’s four o’clock in the mor
ning,” Cindy replied in arch tones. “Of course I’m here. The question is, where are you? More to the point, who is that man lying stark-naked in the bed next to you?”
Maxine grinned. “That’s two questions.”
“And that’s no answer,” said Cindy briskly. “Besides, I haven’t finished yet. You were seen tiptoeing away from the party at midnight, sweetie, and that was four long hours ago. The thing is, what on earth could you possibly have been doing since then that’s kept you so busy you couldn’t call your oldest and dearest friend to let her know about it?”
“Gosh.” Maxine sounded deeply impressed. “You mean you were worried about me?”
“Worried? Of course I wasn’t worried. I was jealous!” Abandoning all self-control, Cindy screeched down the phone. “So stop buggering about and tell me who he is before I explode!”
“OK, OK,” sighed Maxine. “His name’s Jim Berenger, and he’s an actor. We’re here at his flat in Belsize Park, and I just rang to let you know that I’ll be back tomorrow morning. Well, this morning,” she amended, glancing up at the clock. “If you’re good, I’ll give you all the girly gossip then.”
Cindy was still screaming, “Oh my God, is he spectacular in bed?” when Bruno leaned across and seized the phone.
“Hi,” he said, lying back against the pillows and daring Maxine to stop him. “Actually, my name is Bruno Parry-Brent. I’m a restaurateur, and we’re in my hotel room at the Royal Lancaster. And yes, since you ask, I am most definitely spectacular in b—”
“Stop it!” hissed Maxine. Struggling to her knees, she wrenched the receiver back from him and slammed it down, cutting Cindy off in midshriek. “How could you do that?”
“Relax, darling.” Effortlessly, Bruno fended her off. “We have nothing to hide. We’re going legit.”
“I don’t want to go legit,” Maxine howled. “This is a one-off, an aberration, a never-to-be-repeated—”
“It’s been a two-off already,” Bruno reminded her, his green eyes glittering with amusement as he surveyed her in all her naked glory. “Play your cards right and we can make it three.”
“Bastard.” She threw a pillow at his head.
“And it isn’t an aberration either. I thought it was rather nice.”
“This is stupid,” cried Maxine, wrapping a sheet around herself and debating whether to risk tipping the contents of the ice bucket over him. Somehow, she didn’t quite dare. The prospect of retaliation was too awful. “Cindy’s the biggest gossip in the world, she’s got a mouth like a megaphone…and you think it’s funny!”
“Not at all. I’m quite serious.”
“So am I bloody serious.” Maxine looked fierce. “I have a sister who will probably never speak to me again if she ever hears about this. Even more to the point,” she added heavily, “you have Nina.”
Bruno said nothing for a while. No longer smiling, he studied Maxine’s face for several seconds, his own expression oddly intense. Then, reaching out, he traced the line of her cheek with a warm forefinger.
“I told you I was serious,” he said eventually. “This is it, Max. We were always meant to be together. I love you.” He paused, then added, “I’m going to leave Nina.”
• • •
“Go on,” persisted Bruno, pinning Maxine down on the bed and expertly avoiding her flailing limbs. “Say it. You won’t get any breakfast until you do.”
The tray was outside the door, tantalizingly out of reach. Maxine, who was starving, made another hopeless bid for freedom before falling back, exhausted, against the pillows. She ached too much to put up a decent fight, and it was all Bruno’s fault. He was the most insatiable man she had ever known.
“Say what?”
“Tell me that you love me.” He enunciated the words slowly and clearly, as if addressing a dim child.
Maxine’s brown eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“Because I’ve said I love you, and it’s only fair. And if you don’t,” he added with an air of triumph, “well, no breakfast. I shall just have to seduce you all over again.”
Desperate to eat, Maxine said in a small voice, “I love you.”
“Louder.”
“I love you.”
“Come on, don’t be shy,” Bruno persisted. “Much louder than that.”
She sighed. Then, at the top of her voice, screamed, “I LOVE YOU!”
“Tell us something we don’t know,” came the shouted reply from the room adjoining theirs. “You’ve been proving it all bloody night. Bloody honeymooners!”
Maxine burst out laughing.
“Honeymooners,” Bruno mused. “Now there’s an idea.”
“I think you have to be married to come into that category.” Still grinning, Maxine ruffled her hair and glanced at her reflection in the mirror. Not bad, considering the excesses of the past nine hours. Thank goodness for smudge-proof mascara.
But Bruno was giving her an odd look. For the first time he no longer seemed entirely sure of himself. “That’s what I mean.”
“Oh,” she mocked. “So now you think we should get married?”
“That’s exactly what I mean.”
Maxine’s eyebrows shot up. The next moment she started to laugh once more, so uncontrollably that the bed shook.
“Don’t do that,” Bruno retaliated crossly. Jesus, would she ever take anything he said at face value? “I’m serious.”
It was a while before she could manage to speak again. “Oh please! Bruno, you just aren’t the marrying kind.”
He looked offended. “Nobody is, until they meet the person they want to marry. Think about it, Max, you and me, together.”
“How can I think about it?” she gurgled. “It’s the most ridiculous idea I ever heard. Look at our track records; we were born to cheat! Can you imagine the chaos it would cause if we ever tried to stay faithful to each other?”
He watched her fling back the bedclothes and make her way to the door. Naked, she briefly checked that the coast was clear before reaching for the breakfast tray.
“But that’s just it,” Bruno protested, meaning every word and willing her to take him seriously. “We’re the same, so we understand each other. God, you’re such a pig,” he added as Maxine tore into a croissant. Within seconds it was gone, and she was starting on the toast, slathering it with butter and honey and sprinkling brown sugar on top before stuffing it greedily into her mouth.
“There, you see?” she countered between mouthfuls. “You’re going off me already.”
He watched her set to work on the second slice; she looked like a bricklayer on speed, and the butter was going on thicker than cement. It didn’t stop him loving her, but it was a miracle she wasn’t the size of a Sherman tank.
“I’m a restaurateur,” he reminded her. “I like to see people enjoying their food, not shoveling it down like porridge.”
“I am enjoying it.” With immense satisfaction, Maxine licked her fingers one by one. Then, with a determined smile, she added, “And there’s another good reason why you can’t leave Nina. You love that restaurant. Imagine how she’d react if you told her about us—she’d have you out of there like a shot.” She fired an imaginary pistol into the air for emphasis. “Boom. And then what would you be? An ex-restaurateur.”
Bruno shrugged. It wasn’t a welcome forecast, but it was fairly accurate, given the circumstances. The restaurant belonged to Nina; giving her up would mean giving up his livelihood. Until now, such an action had been unthinkable.
It was a measure of his feelings toward Maxine that it no longer even seemed to matter. “Sacrifices have to be made,” he said lightly. “I can always get another job. The lifestyle may take a bit of a dive, but…well, I happen to think you’re worth it.”
“Don’t.” Maxine felt suddenly afraid. This was so unlike Bruno, so totally out of character for him. “In five minu
tes you could be telling me it’s all a joke.”
But when Bruno reached for her, the expression in his eyes was deadly serious. “No joke. I’ve waited nearly twenty years for this. I don’t even know if I like it yet. I love you more than you love me, and that makes me the vulnerable one. This has never happened to me before.”
More moved than she dared admit, Maxine said briskly, “Evidently not. Rule number one is never tell people you love them more than they love you. It’s asking to get kicked in the teeth.”
“I know.” Bruno kissed her collarbone. “But it’s the only way I can think of to convince you I’m not bullshitting.”
A shudder of sheer longing snaked its way down her spine. “OK,” she said simply. “I believe you. But it still isn’t going to be easy.”
“And I’m going to be poor. Well,” he amended with a forced smile, “relatively poor, anyway. Is that a major problem for you?”
To her absolute horror, Maxine realized she was in danger of bursting into tears. Staring hard at the tops of the trees outlined against a pale-gray sky, which was all she could see from their third-floor window overlooking Hyde Park, she willed the lump in her throat to subside. Nobody made her cry and got away with it. Least of all, she thought crossly, a bloody man.
But Bruno, misinterpreting her silence, was growing impatient. “Is it?” he persisted. “Are you only interested in men with money? Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”
Maxine hit him with a pillow. “You bastard,” she howled. “What do you think I am, some kind of bimbo gold digger? How dare you!”
“Ouch.” Bruno dodged out of reach as she lunged at him again. Overcome with relief, he broke into a grin. “Look, I wasn’t accusing; I was asking. And it’s a perfectly reasonable question, anyway. Lots of people are attracted to money. What about that ex-fiancé of yours?” he added in ultrareasonable tones. “Janey told me about him. He was loaded, and you can’t tell me you didn’t enjoy it.”