‘I do flirt,’ said Bernadette, equally quietly, ‘and I do try to be appealing. And I do it unfairly sometimes, and badly at other times, and I’ve practically made a career out of it – but I do it because I believe so strongly in the end result. I do it because I’m a person who wants love and wants to give love. I’m in love with Tim and I’m trying to find my way to him. I’m blundering towards him, taking no prisoners. And I might seem stupid to you – I know I seem stupid to you – but my love for Tim is the best part of me. The truest part. So that’s the glaring difference between you and me. We’re both skilled in the art of love, and both impressed with our own prowess, but I’m the one that truly wants it. I’m in love with Tim, I’m cut-my-own-arm-off-and-eat-it in love with him, but you … you’re in love with no one except yourself.’
There was a painful pause. He looked hurt almost, his black eyes round with surprise. She wanted to kiss him as an expression of friendship, but managed to avert the tragedy by biting the inside of her lip. She hadn’t meant to sound so harsh. This time, surely, he would be irrevocably angry with her. But after an intense silence, he simply said, still whispering, ‘What about Borghild? Borghild who eats men for fun?’
‘I said that for comic effect,’ she returned, and removing herself from his arms, she walked away.
She hadn’t moved far before Tim was beside her, falling into an easy stride next to her as she weaved her way through the party.
‘What are you doing, Bernie?’ he asked, gravely.
‘What do you mean?’
‘With Radley? What was that? What was he doing to your hair? He looked like he was going to kiss you right there and then.’
‘Would you care?’
They had ended up outside, and Bernadette headed towards a quiet part of the garden so that he had to follow.
‘You know I care about you. And what about David? I mean … David! Come on! What are you doing to yourself?’ He looked so exasperated, in a polite, intellectual way, that Bernadette smiled at him lovingly.
‘Are you jealous?’
He turned his head, a red flush on his cheeks and neck. ‘You can’t ask me that.’
‘Why not? Why can you question me, but not the other way round?’ He looked at her helplessly, as she stood proud and poised and challenging. ‘Here, darling,’ she said, removing his glasses and cleaning them on her dress. ‘You’re getting all hot and bothered. Let’s not steam these up.’
He took his glasses back and settled them on the bridge of his nose. ‘Bernie!’ he sighed. ‘You’re torturing me.’
‘Actually, Tim, I think you’re torturing both of us.’ They stood a foot apart, neither one moving, both filled with regret. ‘I just want you to know that you are my motivation … for everything. I’m not interested in Radley, or David, or anyone but you. You’re it. Do you know that? The rest is just silliness on my part, because I’m so demented and distracted by you, I forget how to behave properly. And I’m filled with constant pain, and loneliness, that needs an outlet. But if we were together, I would be the very model of propriety and sobriety. You wouldn’t fault me.’
‘You’re fine as you are,’ said Tim, his voice cracking. ‘I like you the way you are.’
Her eyes threatened to fill with tears as they gazed at each other, but then they both noticed David puffing his way towards them, waving cheerily at Bernadette. ‘Hello, hello!’ he said. ‘I thought I’d lost you.’
‘Apparently not,’ she smiled. ‘I was just asking Tim where the bathroom was. I’m going to go and freshen up for a minute.’
David looked disappointed as Tim said, ‘If you head upstairs, you should find Lizzie and the other girls. They wanted to escape the party for a bit. There’s a powder room up there that won’t be as crowded as the ones down here.’
Bernadette nodded and set off, ignoring David’s obsequious little bow as she passed.
She felt strange walking up the staircase of Radley’s house, as though she were violating something unwritten. She hoped none of the guests noticed her sneaking up the stairs, and she particularly hoped Radley Blake himself wasn’t watching. At least she had the legitimate excuse of going to find Elizabeth, and could say so if questioned.
The house was so large that the upstairs landing had three corridors leading in different directions. Bernadette hesitated, as though at the labyrinth of Crete, but took the corridor to the right, after hearing women’s laughter emanating from that area.
Her footfalls were silenced by the thick silk carpet, and she walked slowly, looking at the black-and-white art photographs on the walls. As she neared an open door, she heard laughter, louder now, and a clear voice saying, ‘The Man Whisperer! That is so passé. And she’s not even that good-looking.’
Bernadette stopped and listened.
‘Lauren, that’s not kind,’ she heard Elizabeth’s soft voice respond. ‘And I think Bernadette is one of the most beautiful girls I’ve ever seen.’
‘She’s not all that,’ said Lauren. ‘And the guy she’s brought with her – what a joke! He’s got to have some serious cash.’
‘No!’ Elizabeth exclaimed, distressed. ‘She’s not like that. Honestly, Radley was absolutely crazy about her from the moment he saw her, and she didn’t want him because he’s not her type.’
‘Not her type?’ exclaimed one of the other women. ‘Now that I don’t believe!’ There were mumbles of assent, Lauren’s loudest of all.
Bernadette had pressed herself against the wall by the open door as she listened in distress to Elizabeth defending her honour. She heard a noise at the end of the corridor and, looking up, to her absolute horror saw Radley emerging from a doorway further down. He spotted her immediately and grinned widely at the sight of her in such a stealthy and compromising position. Keeping his eyes locked on hers, he crept forward like a jungle cat, until he too could listen on the other side of the doorway undetected. Bernadette made a frantic gesture for him to go away, but instead he just made an exaggerated silent show of putting his hand behind his ear, like a creepy French mime.
‘Radley Blake is every straight girl’s type!’ Lauren exclaimed, loudly. Radley waggled his eyebrows triumphantly at Bernadette and gave her a thumbs-up. ‘If she didn’t make a play for him when she had a chance, then there’s a reason … and I think I know what it is.’
Bernadette was paralysed with dread. Radley had stopped his clowning and was instead listening carefully, his eyes fixed on her.
‘Don’t hate me, Lizzie,’ Lauren continued, ‘but I think your friend the Man Whisperer is after Tim. She’s totally into him, in a big way. It’s obvious.’
‘No!’ Elizabeth exclaimed. ‘They’re just friends. She loves him like I love Rad!’
In that moment, Bernadette hated Lauren with all her ice-white heart. She hated Elizabeth too, and Radley Blake, and humanity in general. She could hear Elizabeth’s clear laugh. ‘Bernie is not “into” Tim!’
‘I’m telling you,’ said the indefatigable Lauren. ‘You watch her. She’s got “whore” written all over her.’
It was at this moment that Radley decided to step through the doorway and startle the women on the other side of it. He startled Bernadette too, who realised too late what he was doing and didn’t have a chance to pull him back. She pressed herself against the wall, wondering what he was up to, and hoping that he wasn’t going to give her away.
She heard the temporary silence, and then Radley’s smooth, commanding tone. ‘Sorry, ladies, I don’t mean to interrupt, but I couldn’t help overhearing you. I got in trouble recently for eavesdropping, so thought I’d better make my presence known.’
In the corridor, Bernadette held her breath. She didn’t trust Radley Blake in the slightest, and believed him perfectly capable of compounding the horror with his sorcerer’s ways.
‘I just wanted to confirm that Bernadette eluded me. I tried every trick in the book – and I know quite a few tricks.’ Bernadette heard the girls laugh, and a couple of them mumble
d something that sounded vaguely conciliatory and apologetic. ‘Personally, I’m not sure she’s “into” me, or Tim, or any man, in that kind of a way. Must be a hazard of her job: extreme boredom with the male gender …’
Bernadette didn’t stop to hear any more. Taking the opportunity to escape, she retreated back the way she’d come and down the staircase. She headed straight for the bar, determined to drown in vodka and choke on slices of lime.
It was half an hour later that she swooped down on David like an intoxicated eagle, her talons sinking into his fleshy sides as she grabbed him round the middle and squeezed. ‘David! I’ve been looking for you.’
‘I’ve been looking for you!’ he gasped. ‘We must have been walking round in circles just missing each other!’
‘Must have!’ she cried, matching his excitement in pitch, tone and timbre.
She rested her chin on the top of his head. ‘You’re really a very convenient height, David,’ she sighed. David, who was squashed against her chest, couldn’t help but offer a muffled agreement. ‘You’re just convenient in general. All-round convenient, you.’ She cuddled him harder.
‘Oh no you don’t.’ Radley had appeared like the Wizard of Wor in front of her, and took her boldly by the shoulders, squashing David between them. ‘Excuse me, David,’ he said, looking down at him, ‘but I need to borrow Bernadette.’ He took her by the hand and led her towards the kitchen. ‘You’re impossible,’ he said.
‘Well you’re improbable,’ she returned. ‘Look at you. Who’s seen the like of you, you sexy genius billionaire? You’re ridiculous. Every woman’s type!’
‘How are you getting home?’
‘David!’ she smirked coquettishly.
‘Not on my watch.’
‘He brought me.’
‘Well, Mick’s taking you home,’ he said, poking his head through an archway to a large kitchen, where bar staff and caterers rushed around. In a corner sat Mick, eating a large sandwich and reading Motor Trend on his iPad. Radley signalled to him, and he hastily left his sandwich and followed them.
‘No,’ said Bernadette, literally digging her heels in and throwing her weight in the opposite direction, like a disgruntled Yorkshire terrier on a leash.
Radley gave her a grim look, and picked her up bodily, putting her over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift. ‘Come on, Mick,’ he said.
‘Put me down!’ screeched Bernadette. ‘Seriously, Radley, put me down! This is dangerous!’
He carried her through the house, people laughing and cheering as they passed, and out through the large front door.
‘You bastard. This is utterly humiliating.’
‘Surely you’re used to humiliation? I thought you actively sought it.’
‘I hate you! Put me down!’
‘Fine,’ he conceded, plonking her somewhat unceremoniously on the tarmac at the top of his steep driveway. ‘Mick is going to see you home. No more arguments. And one more thing: I don’t mislead women. I’m always entirely upfront about my intentions. I’ve told you before, I say what I mean. I don’t play a part as you do. I am myself. And women seem to like it. At least, I’ve had no complaints so far.’ Here he grinned. ‘I always make it known I’m not in the market for anything long-term.’ He turned and walked into the house.
‘Not soon enough!’ Bernadette called stroppily after his retreating back. ‘You don’t make it known soon enough!’
He was gone. Sighing, she turned doleful eyes to Mick, who discreetly held out his arm to steady her. He steered her towards the large detached garage.
‘You must have a very bad impression of me,’ she said. ‘I’m not always this drunk, I promise.’
‘Uh-huh,’ was Mick’s only response.
4
Bernadette opened her eyes. David was lying in her bed, staring at her breathlessly, not moving a muscle lest he disturbed her. ‘You were dreaming!’ he said. ‘I could see your eyeballs moving backwards and forwards under your eyelids!’
Bernadette closed her eyes, courageously counted to ten, opened one eye and then opened both. David was still there.
They had been sleeping together for about a week now, and she still couldn’t get used to the naked sight of him. Especially in the morning, when the soft light of a new day seemed so far removed in time and space from the transgressions of the night before. Allowing him to stay the night was pure self-flagellation; she might as well tear all the hair from his incredibly furry chest and wear it as a cilice.
She tried to smile at him; after all, he was a human being, and deserving of civility, at least. ‘Would you like breakfast?’ she asked, dutifully. She fancied that she could don a fetching apron and cook him an omelette. She would open the windows, turn on the radio and serve him coffee. She could be the woman of his dreams this morning.
He nodded, already accustomed to the privilege, and rolled over on to his back, stretching in a self-satisfied way, and with a master-of-the-universe smile that made Bernadette shudder.
A naturally energetic person, she did not often experience the sensation of genuine fatigue, but this morning her whole body felt heavy with exhaustion. In the kitchen, she opened cupboards and banged a skillet down on the stove, yanked at the refrigerator door and sighed a heavy sigh. For a moment, it seemed as though she might start crying, right there over the eggs. But she managed to gulp down whatever true emotion was threatening to surface, and focus instead on a general sense of victimisation.
She was already sick of the making-breakfast routine. It was an unpleasant mix of boredom and self-loathing. Playing the part of a sweet-tempered housewife was somewhat limiting. She didn’t know how long she could continue this charade with David.
She wanted to lie in her bed alone, stretch out, check her emails and then head to a café for brunch. Instead, she was arranging an omelette carefully over a piece of toast, fussing about how much milk to add to the coffee, and feeling very lonely.
‘Here you are!’ she said, forced-cheerfully, re-entering the bedroom and placing the artfully styled plate and a mug of medium-brown coffee on the bedside table. David was on his stomach in her bed, scrolling through his emails. ‘You’re welcome,’ she added, as he didn’t look up.
‘Hmm?’ He reached absent-mindedly for the coffee, and dripped a couple of medium-brown drips on her white cotton sheets. ‘Tim wants to meet us, to discuss his idea,’ he said.
‘Great,’ said Bernadette unenthusiastically, perching on the edge of the bed and drawing both knees up to her chin.
‘He’s a genius!’
‘No,’ said Bernadette quietly, ‘Radley Blake is the genius.’
It was interesting, Bernadette thought distractedly, to be sitting in a room with the man she loved, while the man she was sleeping with looked on benignly.
Bernadette, David and Tim were in the latter’s office. He was behind his desk, just as he had been the first time she’d met him. She wished they had met in a garden, or in a wooded dell by a stream, or some other equally romantic location, but they had met here, in this rectangular white-and-glass place.
The office had two walls of windows, which looked down on Beverly Hills and allowed the light to play prettily over Tim’s flaxen head. White shelves were lined with books, awards, and pictures of Tim’s travels: there he was riding a camel in Rajasthan, petting a stray dog in Burma, swimming with turtles in Hawaii – and there he was kissing Elizabeth.
Bernadette scowled at David, who rustled and creaked in the seat next to her in a most irritating manner, trying to find a comfortable position for his pursy form. He was struggling with excitement at what Tim was suggesting. Bernadette was wriggling too, but for entirely different reasons.
‘A tour?’ she repeated, looking at Tim sceptically.
‘I think it’s the next logical step,’ he said, holding her gaze steadily. ‘We need to get you out there, connecting with real women.’
‘Oh yes, real women. I love those,’ she said drily. ‘But I’m afraid I don’t
understand. Why would I do a tour when I haven’t written a book?’
‘Tour is the wrong word. Think of it as a lecture series.’
‘That sounds very grown-up. What would I lecture on?’
‘On being you! On being the Man Whisperer!’
‘Hmm. Not so grown-up then.’
‘You’d be allowing real women – normal women – in on your secrets.’
‘Do you not think I’m a real woman, Tim?’ she asked, her eyes suddenly alight with playful fire.
He looked down at his hands, suppressing a smile. David was doing the classic tennis-match-spectator head-swing, looking first to her and then to Tim, with his mouth hanging slightly open, his mind always a thought behind and never truly catching up.
‘Your readership demographic is overwhelmingly male,’ Tim continued. ‘Not surprising, but I think we’re missing something. I’ve noticed how enamoured Elizabeth is with you. She thinks you’re an admirable role model—’
‘No need to sound so dubious,’ interjected Bernadette. ‘I could be a role model.’
‘Elizabeth feels that you are this modern, together, go-get-’em, kick-ass woman. A rarity.’
‘How sweet,’ said Bernadette with a glint in her eye that made Tim blush. He removed his spectacles and cleaned the lenses with his shirtsleeve.
‘David,’ he said, turning large, unfocused eyes in the other man’s direction, ‘would you mind leaving us for a moment? As Bernadette’s manager, I feel she needs to be managed.’
Acts of Love Page 9