by Jules Wake
‘Was it a nudist beach?’
‘I don’t know. It might have been. It was private.’
‘I’m not sure that’s any better. What were you doing there with him?’
She closed her eyes and sucked on her lip.
‘I knew Richard at drama school.’ She took a breath. ‘I should have told you before.’
‘That you knew him? Why?’
She took in another deep breath. ‘Because … I didn’t just know him. We lived together. We were married.’
‘Married!’ Alan screeched the word. ‘For how long?’
She traced the rattan pattern to the left of her knee. ‘It’s sort of complicated.’
Alan frowned, confusion filling his eyes. ‘You were either married or not married. How can that be complicated?’
‘We’re … still married,’ she said slowly, before adding in a rush of words. ‘But in name only. We never got around to doing the paperwork bit. When I came out here, it was a way of tracking him down to ask him for divorce. I haven’t seen him for eight years.’
‘Eight years? Why are you still married? That doesn’t make sense. And why didn’t you tell me you were already married?’
‘It sounds daft but I kind of put it out of my head. It didn’t impact on anything. I put off doing anything about it. Until …’
‘I proposed,’ said Alan dully.
‘Yes. I should have told you then but Richard was a dim-and-distant memory. It didn’t have anything to do with us.’
‘Nothing to do with us. You’re married to a major star, a huge celebrity and you weren’t going to tell me! Don’t you think I deserved to know? I think that’s rather patronising, don’t you? Deciding what you would and wouldn’t tell me. I guess it’s too much of a come-down. A school teacher.’ His lips curled with bitterness.
‘I knew you’d be all funny about it.’
‘Funny? What about you already having a husband? Well, there’s a thing.’
‘No, funny about him being who he is.’
‘Hardly surprising. He’s some ‘A’-list wanker and I’m a nobody school teacher.’
‘He’s not a wanker. I admit he’s very successful, but it’s not a competition. You’re two very different people.’
‘Just as well. So this picture is the cosy ‘let’s get divorced chat’ is it? Is that how celebrities handle these things these days. Obviously I wouldn’t know.’
‘I met up with him to discuss the divorce. He … he was being, well he wanted us to … he said he would speed things up, if I agreed to spend some time with him, so that we could part as friends. We went to the beach and he … dared me.’ That sounded lame.
Alan rolled his eyes. ‘Pardon?’
‘Look. Nothing happened.’ Honesty forced her to add. ‘Not then.’
‘You expect me to believe that?’
Sweat trickled down her back and she bunched her hands under her legs.
‘No,’ she said with aching sadness. He didn’t deserve this. ‘I don’t and I don’t expect you to forgive me either. I’m sorry. I should have told you that I was already married. I thought I could get the divorce sorted and you would never have to know.’
Panic stirred in Alan’s face.
‘It’s not that I don’t forgive you. It’s … You do realise the seriousness of the situation. If people see this picture, you could lose your job. I could lose my job by association. The school’s policies, Code of Conduct, Disqualification by Association.’ His face crumpled. ‘The last thing I want to do is lose you … but this could have dire consequences.’
He reached over the table and laid a hand on her knee. ‘You know I love you. This has been a shock. I don’t want to lose you.’
Sorrow filled Carrie’s face. ‘Alan, didn’t you hear me? I didn’t sleep with him that day on the beach but,’ her leg jigged, she had to tell him, ‘I … I … we have slept together.’
‘I see.’ Alan stared beyond her, his face a blank mask.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
It would have been insulting to say she was sorry or to try and make excuses. She had none. They sat in silence for a few minutes, until Alan said. ‘I think I’ll go for a cycle ride.’
‘Are you sure that’s a good idea?’
‘I think it’s an excellent fucking idea,’ snarled Alan with such venom that she sat back, ‘especially when my fucking fiancée has been shagging someone else.’
She couldn’t blame him. With a heavy heart she watched as he strode, radiating ‘don’t talk to me’ vibes across the patio, skirting the pool and went back into the house. A few seconds later a crash reverberated through the building, sound bouncing off the water as he slammed the front door.
Angela brought her a cup of tea, popping it on the table and turning to leave before asking, ‘You okay?’
Carrie half-laughed. ‘I love you, Ang. Only you could bring a cup of tea and unobtrusively say, without a big drama, I’m here if you want me but I can bugger off if you don’t.’
‘I love you too. And if you want to be left alone, that’s fine.’
‘I’ve made such a muck of things.’ She reached for the tea, needing the comfort of the hot cup despite the blazing sunshine. ‘I’ve upset Alan. He’s the nicest man I know and I’ve … made a mess.’
‘Have you told him about Richard?’
Carrie screwed up her face.
‘I told him we were married.’ She faced Angela. ‘I also told him that I slept with Richard.’
‘You did. I mean you told Alan that. I … er … I didn’t know you had. Not that it’s anything to do with me.’
The brilliant thing about Angela was that even when she was dying to know, she refrained from asking.
‘I went back to his hotel room last night.’
‘I thought you were evasive about what time you got home.’
Carrie looked up at her. ‘Partly because I crossed paths with Phil.’
‘Oh.’ Angela studied the floor with great interest. ‘I guess I can’t talk.’
‘You’re not engaged to anyone else.’
‘True, but you are married to Richard.’
‘I don’t think on moral grounds, in this situation, that’s going to cut it. I let Alan down. Badly. He didn’t deserve that.’
‘Does he know, that you … you know, slept with Richard?’
‘Yes, I couldn’t not tell him.’
‘Is he very cross?’
‘That would be far easier. If he were nasty and angry, I could be nasty back and we could have a huge shouty row and promise never to darken each other’s doors.’ She thought of the defeated hunch of his shoulders as he’d left.
‘I’ve disappointed him and made him sad, which makes it a thousand times worse. I’m the villain and I can’t escape from that, even though I never meant to hurt him.’
‘What’s going to happen?’ asked Angela.
Carrie pushed her hands through her hair, tugged at the tangles, welcoming the pinching pain on her scalp. ‘I get what I deserve.’
Angela rolled her eyes. ‘What that’s supposed to mean?’
‘I’ve messed up things with Alan. Even if he wanted to, I can’t marry him now.’
Angela’s intense speculative stare made Carrie turn her head.
‘Why not?’
‘Because it’s always going to be Richard for me.’ Saying it out loud made her stomach flutter. ‘I never stopped loving him. I tried so hard to pretend that I didn’t. Some days I almost convinced myself, but it’s like there’s a constant dull pain always there hovering, on the edge of your consciousness.’ She laughed, with a sour twist to her lips. ‘Some days you think it’s gone and then, bam, it’s back, lurking again.’
Angela frowned and Carrie loved her for pretending she understood what the hell she meant.
‘And what about him?’
Carrie wrapped her hair around her hand and wrist, letting it coil like a helter-skelter round and round. ‘There’s no future for us.’
Carrie glared at her horribly perceptive sister. ‘He says he loves me but … this is a holiday romance. We have our own lives now. And do you know what the worst thing is?’
Although the question didn’t require an answer, Angela gave a dutiful shake of her head.
‘It’s my own fault. I let him go. And now it’s too late.’
‘Are you sure?’ Angela asked, sympathy lining her face. ‘Have you talked about it?’
‘There’s no point. He has his career. He’ll be back in LA at the end of the month.’
‘There are planes.’
‘Yeah, and how long’s that going to work for? Our lives are too different. I’ve got responsibilities. A job. I can’t up and take off for a transatlantic weekend. And he’s in big demand. He’s at the peak of his career. You know what acting’s like. You can’t afford to turn any opportunity down. Besides being a married man wouldn’t do. He needs to be the young, handsome bachelor. You can’t spoil that illusion for fans.’
‘I guess not,’ Angela sighed. ‘You’re right. What a mess.’
‘What’s a mess?’
Carrie stiffened as Jade plonked herself down on the arm of the chair.
‘Jade.’ Her mother gave her a warning frown.
‘If it’s about the picture. I mean it’s a bit bleurgh that you’re naked.’ She pulled a face. ‘But, seriously, who’s going to care? Chill Auntie Carrie. Everyone will be too busy wondering how you got to be on a private beach with Richard yum bum Maddox.’
‘Thanks,’ Carrie laughed. You had to hand it to her, she had a point. ‘I have to hope no one at work realises it’s me.’
‘Yeah! Imagine. Your teacher naked. That is gross.’
‘I didn’t mean that. I could get the sack for improper conduct.’
‘How? What’s improper? He’s your husband.’
‘Yes, but they don’t know that. If they realised it’s me, I could lose my job and so could Alan.’
‘Why? What’s it got to do with him? He wasn’t there, was he?’
‘No, it wouldn’t look good that he was associating with someone like me. Unfortunately, schools have heaps of policies about that sort of thing.’
‘Sounds a load of crap to me. You can’t tell me it’s illegal or anything. You were in private with your husband. End of.’ Jade bounced up. ‘I’m off to get a drink. Want one?’
‘No thanks,’ said Carrie, tempting as it was to knock back a couple of stiff vodkas.
‘Okey doke. But hey,’ Jade bent and kissed her cheek, ‘chill. It will be fine. He’s your husband. That makes it okay. I promise.’
She jumped up, plugging in her earphones and dancing across the patio to a beat they couldn’t hear.
‘Bless her. She’s a good kid, really.’ Carrie smiled.
‘Hmm, she’s still on her best behaviour at the moment. It won’t last long.’
When the buzzer sounded at the gate, Carrie, who’d been listening out for it with half an ear for the last two hours, jumped up. Alan had been gone for four hours.
‘Livraison pour Madame Maddox,’ intoned a voice. Carrie’s heart sank back down with a resounding thud. Where was he? What if he’d had an accident?
A funny little Citroen van careered down the hill, pulling up outside the front door with a splash of gravel and an elderly man, who may have well cut his teeth on driving tanks in the First World War, sprang out of the car brandishing a huge bouquet of flowers.
‘Madame Maddox?’
‘Yes.’
‘Voila!’
He bowed and presented her with the flowers and then, leaving her feeling slightly Alice-like on the steps, he jumped back in the van, revved the feeble engine, which sounded like an angry sewing machine, and hurtled back up the road.
Mauves, purples and pale pinks made up the arrangement, the scent of roses most noticeable. Nestled in the very centre of the display sat her phone along with a little white envelope.
‘Sorry I can’t be with you. Filming for next few days, but you might need this. Rx’
She left the flowers in the kitchen, clutching the phone to her as she slipped into the laundry room, not wanting to be disturbed. With the thrill of opening a love letter, she scrolled through the text messages he’d been sending her.
Morning. In case you forgot, I love you.
She touched the screen as if she could absorb the words through her fingertips.
Hey sleepyhead, spare a thought for some of us working hard. Missing you. Love Richard x.
With a smile and a lurch of her heart, she thought of him falling asleep, his hair tousled, his skin dark against the crisp white linen hotel bedsheets.
Had he been imagining her still in his bed?
There was a gap of a few hours before the next text.
‘Thought we were never going to finish today. We’re filming in Ramatuelle late morning. Would you like to meet there? Around 3pm? Café Berenice, Place du Marche.’
She clutched the phone to her chest. Damn. Had he waited for her? Had he wondered where she was? What had he thought?
There were a couple of missed calls in between the texts.
Hope everything is OK. Text me back to let me know you got home OK.
She winced. Damn, she wanted to speak to him. Hear his voice. How was it that she could miss him this much after one night?
I’d asked Phil to call in to check you got home safely. He says he saw you. Any reason you’re ignoring my texts?
She clenched her fingers tight in a ball, cursing her stupidity in leaving the phone. ‘Duh! Now I feel a muppet. Found your phone. Got a night shoot and all day tomorrow. Hectic schedule. Love Rx’
With a dreamy smile she clutched the phone to her chest, her head full of images of him and she pored over them like a miser counting pennies before tapping in a quick message.
Speak soon. Love Cx
As soon as she pressed send she realised she’d forgotten to say thank you for the flowers.
Thanks for the flowers too. Cx.
For a minute she ummed and ahhed as to whether to mention the picture.
No. Why spoil this lovely slushy puddle of warmth?
It would tide her over, like a secret balm, while she sorted out the fall-out with Alan.
Talking of whom, where was he? Had he cycled back to England?
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
‘I really, really love you, you know,’ slurred Alan, flopping forward, almost falling out of the car as Carrie tried to help him out of the little Clio. It was like to trying to make a puppet stand up when all the strings had been cut.
She hauled him upright, propping him up using her shoulder, and led him to the front door.
‘Carrieeee,’ he sang stopping and draping both arms around her and almost head-butting her as he attempted to nuzzle into her neck, leaving a wet trail across her ear. ‘Donchoo love meeee? Tha’s a song you know. Donchoo love me baby. Donchoo love me oooooh. Donchoo. Donchoo.’
‘Shh. You’ll wake the neighbours,’ hissed Carrie, despite the fact that the nearest neighbours were the cicadas chirruping in the grounds, flinching as a waft of beery breath hit her full in the face.
‘Sssorry,’ said Alan, his head nodding and drooping. ‘Shh. The neighbours.’ He put his fingers to his lips. ‘Shh.’
Disentangling himself from her, he began an exaggerated tip toe towards the front door, waving one finger, whispering. ‘Don’t wake the neighbours.’
It took some manhandling, but she managed to get him up the steps to the front door.
‘Hellooo Angela,’ shouted Alan as her sister opened the door, holding it wide to allow Carrie to guide in the wildly flailing man.
‘Alan,’ she said in a faint voice, taking in his paralytic state with a horrified glance at Carrie.
‘Found this bloody marvellous bar. The owner only bloody did the Tour. Wore the Maillot Ja-Ja … the yellow one. Fanshy a nightcap?’
With a st
agger he tripped over the threshold, wheeled about for a minute looking like a bowled tenpin tottering on the edge of collapse, arms waving trying to balance, before he catapulted into the console table, knocking over the flowers, which Angela managed to catch, surprising herself, with the finesse of rugby player receiving the ball.
‘I think you’ve had more than enough. Black coffee, perhaps?’
‘Coffee, schmoffee. Let’s party. I can party.’ He narrowed his eyes at Carrie. ‘I can party like any old film star. We can go dancing. Let’s go dancing. You want to go dancing?’
‘No, I don’t, thank you.’
‘You’d go dancing with him, though, wouldn’t you? Dancing, schmancing with Mr Movie Star.’
‘It’s time for bed.’
‘I need a wazz.’ Alan started to unzip his trousers.
‘In there.’ Carrie shoved him towards the downstairs cloakroom and shut the door.
Angela sniggered and then clapped her hand over her mouth. ‘Sorry I shouldn’t laugh but … I’ve never seen anyone in such a state.’
‘Tell me about it. It took three burly Frenchman from the bar to get him into the car. He wanted to stay.’
‘Has he been there all afternoon?’
‘No, he was at another bar earlier and got to this one about eight.’ Carrie had finally received a call on her mobile from the owner of a bar in Gassin at half-past midnight, asking her to come and collect Alan.
‘Where’s his bike?’
‘Chained up outside the first bar.’
‘Ouch. He’s going to have a stinker of a hangover in the morning.’
‘Serves him right,’ said Carrie with feeling, and then winced at her own callousness. She’d caused this and it didn’t serve him right. She hadn’t served him well at all.
‘Do you think he’s alright in there? It’s gone very quiet.’
‘Although it’s tempting to leave him in there, in case he throws up, we ought to get him into bed.’
‘Do you want me to help you to put him to bed?’