She wasn’t even nervous about her second speaking engagement as the Man Whisperer. In fact, nothing could dim her ebullient joy, because finally Tim was taking charge and had admitted his true feelings.
A week after the Vegas trip, he had texted her an apology: I’m sorry for putting you in that position.
I loved being put in that position, she had replied. I want you to put me in every position. I do want you.
New York, was his response. We should talk in New York.
We should do more than talk … she flirted.
And then the texts had come fast: Okay. We can. I’ll arrive Friday. 4 p.m.
I’ll be waiting.
Okay.
I can’t wait to see you. I want you so badly.
I want you too, Bernadette.
And that was that. Her life had changed with one text. Suddenly everything seemed possible. It would be hard for Elizabeth, of course, and Bernadette was quickly filled with an overwhelmingly charitable feeling towards the other woman. They would make sure Elizabeth was hurt as little as possible. They’d look after her, always. It would be easy for her to find a good man, because she was a good woman. Elizabeth would have a happy future too, even if Bernadette had to engineer one somehow.
It was easy to imagine a happy future for Elizabeth in the removed environment of New York City. New York existed only to serve as the backdrop to the culmination of Bernadette’s romantic life. Tim would kiss her (and more) in New York. It was the city of their weekend getaway, their ville de l’amour, the scene of many previous such crimes, with every possible monument to romance.
She had been in the city a day and was already imbued with the adventurous spirit of it. Safely ensconced at the Crosby Street Hotel, she ventured out alone in the afternoon heat with no particular idea or intent. She wandered pavements, dodged bustling bodies and looked up a lot. It was nice to have an extra dimension filled once more. In LA she had grown accustomed to everything being low-level and earthquake-proof. In New York, buildings towered above her and bore down upon her, threatening to block out the sky. It seemed as if the whole world was man-made, and nature was an afterthought on the outskirts of vision and memory.
She passed hot-dog stands and retail stalls, from where Radley Blake’s face, multiplied a hundred times, stared at her with calm indifference. Squire magazine had published her article on Radley, and his face was on the cover. The newsstands were plastered with him and his handsomeness. She smiled to see him there, and thought it strange how familiar he was to her now, like an old friend.
The article had garnered much interest, mostly about the man himself, who was a new and fascinating character to the wider public, a man of mystery, rare in these degenerate, tell-all times.
But some opinion had also been expressed on Bernadette’s writing. One columnist pointed out that Radley Blake was the only man Bernadette had ever been sympathetic to and seemed to actually like, and there was much noise in the blogosphere speculating on a romantic relationship between the two. Bernadette didn’t care. She believed her piece to be a just and unbiased account of a rather remarkable man, a man not only incredibly successful in his professional and academic life, but on balance, a good human being. It was much harder to be good than successful, and she wanted to laud him for this. ‘Gushing’, one snide reader had called it, in the comments section. Bernadette had never before been accused of gushing, and she was revolted by the word. Gushy girls were the lowest of the low.
Bernadette had been honest in her reporting, even going so far as to admit that the Hollywood Bowl had been her idea, and that Blake would have been happier watching a movie at home with friends. She had carefully researched the science behind Clarion Molecular (aided by the sweet Sam, who connected her with all the right people), and had admitted some disparity between the way Radley was described by friends and colleagues, and the way she experienced him. As one particularly bitter rival commented:
The Man Whisperer is so enamoured with her own sway over the unenviable Radley Blake that she dedicates time to detailing the way he speaks to her as opposed to anyone else; apparently he’s funnier, more relaxed and more charming in her company – and doesn’t she delight in the difference! It turns out the way to secure a good write-up from the lady journalist is to propose marriage in a public place. A step this reporter is not willing to take!
Radley had contacted Bernadette as soon as the article was published. She hadn’t let him read it beforehand, and he hadn’t asked to see it, but when the magazine came out, he sent her a text – You do love me after all! – to which she didn’t reply. Undeterred, he followed it up with I’m flattered, to be sure and You have no idea what this has done for my personal life – suddenly I’m popular! and finally, Can we meet to discuss your excellent writing?
We can’t meet right now, she had texted back. I’m in New York to do more whispering.
The whisper that was heard across the world! he texted jovially.
She hadn’t replied. She felt she had done more than enough for Radley Blake, had compromised her whole writing style, in fact, and therefore could put off his romantic ministrations without guilt. She was determined to thoroughly enjoy her time in New York, remorse-free, without reference to Radley, or Elizabeth, or anyone else who might make her feel bad. The only slight hiccough was that Rose was arriving that evening. It had been arranged a while ago, when the New York tour date had been confirmed. London to New York was a much easier flight than London to LA, and so it seemed logical that they should combine business with pleasure. Rose was coming to hear Bernadette speak, and then they were planning to spend a couple of days touring the city, enjoying each other’s company.
It was unfortunate, but it couldn’t be helped. Bernadette was usually overjoyed at the thought of seeing Rose, but in this instance, with the awkward timing – a sin being committed in such close proximity to her moral mother – she felt somewhat uneasy.
She had arranged for a car to collect Rose from JFK, and was planning on calling her and feigning tiredness that evening. Because Tim was due at her hotel room at 4 p.m.! Heavens above!
She absent-mindedly purchased another copy of Squire from a friendly vendor (she already had five of this issue at home), and stopped to flick through it, sitting on a park bench. The photos of Radley that accompanied the article were particularly flattering. She hadn’t been present for the shoot, but had heard from a third party that he had been utterly obliging, quiet and efficient. The results were very pleasing. His unusually strong features looked ridiculously symmetrical, almost as if there had been too much Photoshop involved – although Bernadette knew for a fact that very little retouching had been required. His dark eyes challenged the reader to judge him, and the trademark smirk, as enigmatic as the Mona Lisa’s, seemed like a finger-up to the whole process. She was so absorbed that she lost track of time, and was only made aware of a sense of urgency when her cell buzzed with a text message at 3.10.
It was from Radley, and it said, I’m in New York.
Bernadette groaned as she gathered herself and hurried hotel-wards. It was just like him to muscle in unwanted at a crucial moment. Why couldn’t he learn to take no for an answer? She texted back as she walked briskly, I don’t want to see you.
Tough. Let me at you, he pinged back immediately.
I’ll see you at the talk. 6 p.m. tomorrow @ the Plaza. Not before.
I will find you. Today.
Bernadette laughed. Good luck, in a city of eight million people, she thought.
When she arrived back in her room, she made quick preparations for Tim, drawing the curtains, and scattering rose petals across the bed and on the floor. Then she took a hasty shower. She was already smooth thanks to earlier depilatory efforts, but she rubbed her skin raw with a sugar scrub to further the cause. Once her body had been attended to, she washed her hair with sweet strawberry shampoo. She smelt a bit like a giant gummy drop once she was finished, but not too stripper-ish.
S
he lathered on coconut oil, adding a tropical fragrance layer on top of the sickly sugar products. Then she blew out her hair, going for a tousled beachy look rather than pin-up perfection, as she simply didn’t have time to construct the latter. Make-up was easy: soft eyeliner, a swipe of grey shadow, a flick of pink blush and a thorough application of jet-black mascara. Her lips were cherry red of their own accord, so she slathered them with Vaseline and let them be. Her outfit was stupendous, La Perla’s finest: a bustier and garter belt set in black silk, with the sheerest lace-topped stockings. She slipped into a pair of sky-high YSLs and managed to light the last candle just as there came a knock on the door. It was exactly 4 p.m.
Oh Tim, Tim! she thought, as she rushed to answer, her heart bursting with love and anticipation. He was always meant to be hers, and she had earned him, there was no doubt about that. Her love had been tested beyond human endurance and she had survived. She still preferred him above every human being she had ever met. He was still her childhood dream, the only man to even come close to it.
She opened the door slowly, allowing one stockinged leg to creep round the frame and give him a taste of things to come. Then she pulled it wider – to reveal Radley and Elizabeth staring at her in consternation.
Bernadette gasped, rendered speechless and utterly terrified. She didn’t understand how Radley had managed to find her, nor did she know why he had brought Elizabeth with him. The only thing she could think about was that Tim would arrive at any moment, and they would be caught red-handed. She didn’t move.
Radley hustled her back inside the room, dragging Elizabeth in with them, and shut the door. Elizabeth stared in confusion at the rose petals, her face bathed in flattering candlelight. The three of them looked at each other in the half-darkness. Bernadette couldn’t speak. She could barely breathe.
‘Darling,’ said Radley, moving to her and kissing her hand, ‘I’m sorry. When I texted, I should have told you I would have Lizzie with me.’
The signs of dawning comprehension on Elizabeth’s face were not matched on Bernadette’s.
‘Look,’ continued Radley, ‘you’ve even set out our magazine. How sweet.’ He pointed to the copy of Squire thrown down on a nearby coffee table. The two women looked at it. Elizabeth blushed and giggled.
‘Oh my God, I didn’t know!’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t have come up.’ She put an arm around Bernadette, and an arm around Radley, and pulled them both into a giant hug. ‘You guys!’ she laughed. ‘You didn’t say anything!’
‘There’s nothing really to tell, as yet,’ said Radley truthfully.
Bernadette sat down heavily on a sofa. ‘Where’s T—’ she began, but Radley cut her off.
‘I’ve made reservations for the three of us at Blue Hill tonight.’
‘For three?’ asked Bernadette, springing back up to a standing position, her head spinning.
‘It’s great food. They have their own farm,’ Radley continued. ‘It’s a shame Tim couldn’t make it out of LA, but now I have my two favourite ladies to myself.’
Bernadette was mortified. She couldn’t quite grasp the detail of what had occurred, but she knew that Radley was communicating one simple fact: Tim was not coming.
‘I should leave you two alone,’ said Elizabeth, grinning. ‘Just wanted to check in. I’m sorry I spoiled the surprise.’
‘Oh, you didn’t,’ said Radley. ‘Bernadette will make it up to me, won’t you, darling?’
‘Yes,’ Bernadette said dully, ‘I’ll make it up to him.’
‘Don’t worry about me knowing,’ reassured Elizabeth, distressed by Bernadette’s sad face. ‘I won’t say anything to anyone, I promise!’ She moved to give her friend a hug, but Bernadette couldn’t bear it, and stepped smartly backwards out of reach.
‘Please don’t hug me when I’m half naked.’
‘Sorry!’ said Elizabeth, incorrectly ascribing Bernadette’s coldness to modesty. ‘I’ll see you guys later?’
‘See you in a bit,’ said Radley cheerfully, ushering her from the room.
When Elizabeth had gone, Radley turned back to Bernadette, who was standing with her arms wrapped round her body. He picked up a soft throw from the couch and draped it over her.
‘I don’t understand,’ said Bernadette shakily.
‘I only understand part of it,’ said Radley. ‘But perhaps you’ll enlighten me as to the rest.’
‘How did you find me?’ she asked.
‘I flew up today with Elizabeth. When I texted you to say I was in New York, we were en route from JFK. Elizabeth said she was to meet you at four o’clock in your hotel room, on Tim’s instructions. I thought I would join her and surprise you. Clearly you were surprised.’
Bernadette began to cry.
‘Save your tears!’ said Radley, quite harshly. ‘And tell me what you’re up to.’
‘Tim said he would meet me here. At four,’ Bernadette said, her voice a little wobbly, although she didn’t dare continue crying.
‘His plans changed. He sent Elizabeth as an emissary. And he didn’t tell you?’
‘No,’ she said sadly.
‘Was he expecting you to be dressed up like a dog’s dinner, or is this all your own doing?’ he said scathingly, glancing round at the petals and candles, and running an appraising eye over the La Perla ensemble.
‘He didn’t know I would be dressed like this,’ said Bernadette. She didn’t tell him that Tim had implied – had thoroughly implied – that this rendezvous would be the start of an affair. She just hung her head in shame and distress.
‘You’re hellish, you know that?’ said Radley, clearly appalled. ‘Leave him alone, why can’t you?’
‘Why can’t you leave me alone?’ cried Bernadette. ‘Just leave me alone!’
He was over to her in two strides and holding her against him as she sobbed.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, between hiccoughs. ‘I didn’t mean that.’
‘I know,’ he said, rubbing her back patiently. Eventually her weeping subsided and she stared at him with watery eyes. ‘You do look a mess,’ he said, not unkindly. ‘Go and clean yourself up, and for God’s sake put some clothes on.’
Bernadette washed and changed in the bathroom. ‘My mother will be here tonight,’ she called through to him. ‘She lands in an hour or so.’
‘Why didn’t you say so? Who’s meeting her at the airport?’
‘A driver.’
‘Oh no,’ said Radley. ‘I’ll be there to collect her.’
‘Thanks, but you’d never make it to JFK on time. It’s rush hour.’
‘My helicopter is on standby. I’ll chopper her into the city.’
‘Your helicopter! Of course! Why didn’t I think of that?’ she asked sarcastically.
She listened for his response, but there was none. ‘Of course I’m grateful,’ she added hastily. ‘I had meant to meet her myself, but …’
She fell quiet, gasping silently with the pain of missing Tim, with the thought of what might have been. She clutched at the sink, trying to catch her breath. Why hadn’t he texted to let her know he wouldn’t be coming? Why had he told Elizabeth to meet her when he knew she would be expecting him? It didn’t make any sense.
‘I’m going to head out right now, in order to catch Rose,’ Radley said, knocking at the bathroom door and opening it in time to see her in an agony of despair. ‘He’s not worth it, Bernadette,’ he continued grimly. ‘The sooner you realise it, the better. I mean it as a friend.’
Bernadette reached out for Radley’s hand, clutching desperately for support. He allowed her to lean against him. ‘Sometimes I want to shake you until the bones rattle in your body,’ he said, mumbling into her hair. ‘You have so much potential, masses and masses of potential. And you waste it all by being silly over some mediocre man.’
‘I can’t help it,’ she whispered.
‘Well please try.’ He carefully removed himself from her grasp and balanced her against the sink. ‘Pull yourself together. Wh
ere is Rose staying while she’s in town?’
‘Here … In a different room.’
‘Okay. If she’s up for dinner, we’ll meet you at Blue Hill. If not, I’ll settle her in her room and join you and Elizabeth later.’
‘Thank you for being so good to me. And my mother.’
‘Of course.’ He didn’t smile, but the intensity of his eyes communicated deep affection. She felt the loss of him when he left.
Bernadette and Elizabeth sat facing each other across a round table. Blue Hill was a charming and discreet place with flattering lighting. Elizabeth looked almost pretty. Bernadette wondered how long it would be before Radley and her mother arrived. It would be a difficult tête-à-tête.
‘Thank you for coming to support me,’ she said gamely, smiling a winning smile. Elizabeth beamed back.
‘I wouldn’t miss it! I love it when you speak. The way you say things is kind of special. You’re an inspiration. I wish I could be like you.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Bernadette, bemused.
‘You’re just so … ballsy and honest. You don’t care what anyone thinks of you. You just say what you think – you say out loud the things the rest of us think in our heads!’
‘I do care what people think of me.’
‘That’s only because you’re kind. You try not to hurt other people’s feelings. I know you think I’m stupid and awkward and slow sometimes. I can read it in your face – you’re so open! But you’re patient with me even so. That’s why you and Rad are so well suited. You’re like these good-looking, intelligent, charitable super-humans!’
Bernadette was not given to bouts of modesty, nor was she easily embarrassed, but Elizabeth’s unexpected little speech had left her feeling quite discomposed, and she fell into a fit of self-reproach. ‘You’re not awkward,’ she mumbled, wishing with all her might that something would happen to get her out of this uncomfortable situation.
At that exact moment, the middle-aged maître d’, who was passing their table with a bottle of red wine, collapsed on the floor, dropping the bottle, and proceeded to have a heart attack.
Acts of Love Page 21