“I haven’t been truthful with you,” she said in a ragged voice, needing to confess it to him now. “But if I am, you could destroy me. You have to swear to me you will never tell.” He couldn’t even imagine what she was about to tell him, and perhaps the lie was that she was Green’s mistress after all. Miles prayed it wasn’t that.
“I promise you,” he said, holding tightly to her hand to give her the strength to tell him whatever it was that he needed to know. “I promise you solemnly that whatever happens between us, I will not tell anyone what you tell me now.” The look in her eyes said she believed him and he could see her shaking. Whatever it was, it was life-threatening to her, and that was good enough for him. He loved her. “What is it, Alex? Don’t be afraid,” he whispered.
“I’m not who or what you think I am.” He had no idea what she meant and looked mystified, and he was in agony now too. Maybe it was worse. Maybe she was married to Green. He was almost certain now that Alex was the celebrated writer’s lover, and Miles had only borrowed her, or stolen her for a few days. Clearly she wasn’t free, or she wouldn’t be so tortured now. And then she said it, in such a low, small voice that he barely heard her at first. “I’m Alexander Green.”
He stared at her blankly, unable to absorb what she’d said, and sure he had heard her wrong. He thought she had said “I’m Alexander Green’s,” confirming his worst fears that he had fallen in love with another man’s woman or wife, and a very important man to him now. And then she said it louder, more distinctly, seeing that he didn’t understand her.
“I am Alexander Green.” There was no mistaking what she said this time.
He stared at her in disbelief. “You’re what? What do you mean? You can’t be. He’s a man.” And that was one thing he knew for certain she was not. They had demonstrated that fully since they got there.
“I’m him. It’s my pen name. He doesn’t exist. I created an imaginary person, because my father told me no one would ever read crime books if they were written by a woman. I believed him, and I was nineteen when I wrote the first one and no one would have taken me seriously. So I invented the name ‘Alexander Green.’ I lie to everyone about it to protect it, but I don’t want to lie to you,” she said miserably. “I love you too much,” she added, as tears rolled down her face, and he stared at her, too stunned to react at first, and then he wiped the tears from her cheeks and kissed her, while he tried to understand what she had said.
“Wait a minute. Who’s at the house in London? He’s there, for God’s sake.” For a sickening instant, he wondered if she was psychotic and trying to claim Green’s identity and talent as her own. But she looked at Miles steadily, and her eyes didn’t waver. If she was lying now, she was very good at it, or very sick.
“I’m at the house in London. There’s no one else there. He doesn’t exist.” Miles observed her for a long beat and put his head down on the table and started laughing.
“Oh my God,” he said, and raised his head to look at her again. “Oh my God, you are incredible. You write those amazing books that the whole world loves? A little girl like you? You scare everyone to death with the crimes, and write the most intricate plots I’ve ever read? You minx!” He couldn’t stop laughing, and he got up and pulled her into his arms and held her, and she felt safe again. She trusted him completely, and now he could trust her too. She had told him the truth. “I swear, I will never, ever tell anyone. I thought you were going to tell me you’re married to him, or his girlfriend, and you could never see me again.” She smiled at what he said. She was as relieved as he was, having shed the burden of six years of lies and secrecy.
“You can’t tell anyone,” she reminded him again, with a look of panic.
“Of course not. And how brilliantly you created him, the famous recluse. Who else knows?”
“My agent, my editor, and the nuns. And I had to tell my publisher or they wouldn’t buy any more books, after the first three. But they have to pay me ten million dollars if they talk.” Miles walked around the room alternately laughing and shaking his head, so happy that he was free to love her as much as he did, and totally bowled over by the hoax she had perpetrated on the world. And she was smiling too. She was so glad that she had told him. A huge weight had been lifted from her heart. She didn’t have to lie to him anymore. She could be honest with him.
“You’ve played the game masterfully. I never, never suspected it for a minute,” he said, still grinning.
“But I lie all the time,” she said unhappily.
“That’s the price you have to pay for your success. And there is one, for all of us. You cannot ever tell, Alex,” he said seriously. “Your readers would never forgive you for lying to them about being a man. They trust you and idolize you. They’ll feel betrayed now if you tell them the truth. But I think you are absolutely the most brilliant woman I’ve ever met and I adore you.”
“You’re not mad at me for lying to you?”
“How could I be? What choice did you have? I’m honored that you trust me now. And you never slipped!”
“I almost do once in a while, but I’m pretty good at it by now. I’ve never told any man before, or anyone really, except Rose, Bert, and the nuns.”
“I’m truly honored,” he said again and meant it, and then looked at her with a broad smile. “Well, this certainly is interesting.” He had huge respect for her, even more than he’d had before, and it showed.
They talked about her writing career late into the night, in the library after dinner, and then they went upstairs and made love again. She was an honest woman now, and felt as light as air. She loved sharing the secret with him, and he teased her about it and had brought out a bottle of fabulous champagne to celebrate her confession and the fact that she was not secretly Mrs. Alexander Green, which was the greatest relief of Miles’s life.
He woke up in the morning smiling at her, and they went back to the city as late as possible, after riding in the hills one last time, and taking a long walk. He told her how much he loved her, and that he wanted to come back here with her as soon as they could get away.
And when he dropped her off at the house, she asked if he wanted to come in. He hesitated, not wanting to get caught, but there was no one to catch them now. She was living in the house alone.
“Are you sure Mr. Green won’t mind?” he teased her.
“I’ll talk to him. I handle him pretty well.”
“You certainly do, you devilish little creature I adore,” he said, and then followed her into the house, looking very circumspect, as though he were going to a meeting with the author himself at eleven o’clock at night. And as soon as they closed the door behind them, he kissed her, and they made love in the master suite, and then sat in the bathtub together for hours.
It was as though their two lives and hearts and souls had blended in the past three days.
“I don’t know how I’m going to pretend we’re just friends on the set tomorrow,” she said wistfully while they were sitting in the bathtub drinking champagne.
“Are you serious? You’ve been leading a double life as an imaginary man for six years, you can do damn near anything…and you write the best fucking books in the world. And I’m going to make you the best TV series you’ve ever seen.” He kissed her and grinned. “And then I’m going to make love to you for the rest of your life. You are the most wonderful woman I’ve ever known, even if you’re an incredible liar.” He laughed, set down his glass, and made love to her again.
Chapter 19
Miles left the house before she did the next morning, so her driver wouldn’t see him, or his car, and he hoped no one else would either. They had agreed that in the future, he would put his car in the garage, particularly when he spent the night. And they were exemplary on the set, friendly, cordial, and professional. No one would ever have suspected they had spent three days together, had made love incessantly, confessed their love for each other, and he knew the deepest secret of her life. At most, they seemed lik
e friends and nothing more.
The actors were in good form again, and the filming moved forward at a rapid pace. Too rapidly for them. They got another break in early November, and hadn’t been back to his farm since the first time. There was snow on the ground, winter had come early, and they spent two heavenly days making love and trying to figure out their plans. They had made a pact that she would not tell anyone that she had shared her secret with him. It was better not to and would panic everyone. It was their secret now that he knew who Mr. Green was. And that he spent every night with her. He left every morning by seven, they worked together side by side, and he was back every night. She had never been happier in her life, and it was devastating for both of them when the filming was over. They had shot the whole first season of TV shows. It was mid-December, the nuns were expecting her in Boston for Christmas, and she had to make a decision whether to extend her lease on her apartment in New York. She hadn’t been there since the summer.
Miles was going to Johannesburg to see his children for Christmas, leaving in a week, and he had another show to produce in January, which would take him several months, so he would have no time to come to New York to see her.
They spent their last days together after the show was finished, at his farm. The production company had given up the house, and allegedly Mr. Green had gone to Montana on his plane the day after the shooting ended, and she was going to move back to Claridge’s, but disappeared to the farm with him instead. But this time it was not joyous, it was mournful. London was wearing all its finery for Christmas and looked festive, but they had to face that their time together was over. They couldn’t be with each other every day on the set, fall asleep in each other’s arms, or wake up side by side in the morning. And she was going to start a book in January in New York, while he worked on his new project in England. The thought of not seeing each other every day was agonizing for both of them, and when he left her at Heathrow for her flight to JFK, they both cried. Alex was in a daze, alternately crying and sleeping as she flew home, and when she got to her apartment, he called her the minute she walked in and they talked for an hour. He was leaving for South Africa in two days and she was taking the train to Boston after meeting with Rose for lunch. Her latest book was currently number one on the bestseller list and Rose wanted to celebrate with her, but Alex was pining for Miles.
Mother MaryMeg noticed immediately that Alex seemed serious and more grown up when she met her at the train station, although the others didn’t see it. She asked if Alex was all right, and if everything had ended well in London, and Alex couldn’t lie to her either.
“I fell in love with the producer,” she said in a breathless voice as tears filled her eyes, and the mother superior’s heart went out to her.
“And did something go wrong?” She hoped not, but Alex looked devastated.
“No, it was perfect. We love each other. But he lives there and I live in New York. We don’t know what to do now.”
“Is he married?” MaryMeg couldn’t understand the problem.
“No, he’s divorced.”
“Do you think he’ll ask you to marry him?” Her heart took a little leap, thinking about Alex moving to London permanently this time, but she wanted her happiness above all. And like any child, Alex had never belonged to them. She was on loan. She belonged to herself now, and possibly to Miles.
“He doesn’t believe in marriage. He had a very bad divorce with his ex-wife. His kids live in South Africa with her, or his son does. And he’s busy all the time. He’s got a big project now after the holidays.” Mother MaryMeg smiled as she listened to her.
“Well, that doesn’t sound so bad. Except for the part about not believing in marriage. But that’s probably just temporary after the divorce. If you love each other you’ll work it out. I can’t wait to meet him.” Alex still had no idea when they would see each other again. Miles was frantic about it too.
She went to see Bert the next day with his Christmas present and she told him about Miles. He could see immediately how much she loved him. He remembered a love like that and envied her for a moment. But he was happy for her, if it lasted and was real.
“Beware of happiness,” he warned her, as she looked at him as though he was crazy. “Misery is a wonderful thing for writers and will drive you to write your best books. But happiness will make you lazy and complacent. You’ll forget about your priorities and sit around all dewy-eyed with the one you love. Happiness can destroy a career if you’re not careful.”
Alex decided that all the wine he drank had finally gotten to his brain. She told him all about the shooting of the TV series, which he found very interesting, except that she had fallen in love with the producer, which he assumed would be a passing thing for both of them and didn’t take it seriously. She tried to tell him it was the Right Man at the Right Time, as he had promised, and he didn’t want to believe her. He was in one of his cranky moods and didn’t want to remember those feelings.
“You’ll get over it,” he told her after the usual bottle of wine, and Alex felt sorry for him, thinking that Bert went too far sometimes and was a sour old man, and he didn’t understand how much they cared about each other or how fabulous Miles was. She forgot sometimes how much he had loved the young woman who had died, and that losing her had changed his life forever.
And when she visited Brigid, she found her pregnant again, with twins this time, which had come as a shock to her and they couldn’t afford, but Pat’s parents were still helping them. He had taken a second job, and they were going to buy a house with his parents’ help. The twins were due in June, if she didn’t have them early.
“You’re turning into a baby machine,” Alex said, laughing at her.
“I know,” Brigid said proudly. She was still on extended leave and she admitted to Alex that she wasn’t going back to work until the children were older. She wanted to be at home with them, and childcare would cost them more than she made at her job.
Two days after Christmas, Alex went back to New York. She had three days left to extend her lease with the owners of the apartment. They had been understanding, and she hadn’t gotten around to it yet. She had no plans for New Year’s Eve, and didn’t want any. She was going to work, and prove Bert wrong that happiness would destroy her career. She was still annoyed at him. What a stupid thing to say, just because he’d had a terrible time and lost the woman he loved.
She was at her desk on New Year’s Eve, working on an outline by hand on a big yellow pad and having trouble concentrating, when the doorman rang and told her there was a delivery. She wasn’t expecting any, and wondered if Miles had sent her something. They had been talking to each other from South Africa every day, and he was as miserable as she was, and they still didn’t know when he’d have time to visit her in New York, or have her come to London during a break. The project he was working on was all-consuming and ate up all his time.
She opened the door for the delivery, and found Miles in front of her with a bottle of champagne and an armload of Chinese takeout. He set it down on the table and pulled her into his arms. She screamed with delight and he spun her around.
“What are you doing here?” She beamed at him.
“I couldn’t stand it anymore. Duncan wanted to be with his pals, I had nothing to do in JoBurg, and all I wanted to do was be with you.” He looked at her seriously as he said it. “I have no right to ask you this, Alex, but would you move to London for me, and live with me? I’m paying my ex-wife a fortune. I had to pay her half the value of the farm and the London apartment, which wiped out my savings, and I don’t want to sell the farm. I’m in no position to ask you to marry me, but I love you, and I want you with me for the rest of my life.” It was all she’d wanted to hear and all she cared about.
“You don’t have to have money to marry me, you know,” she told him, but she wasn’t pushing for marriage either, and she had her own money, mostly from her writing, and a small amount left from the sale of her father’s hou
se.
“I’m not going to marry you as a pauper,” he said clearly. “And I’ll have to help my kids for a long time. And I don’t want you to be responsible for my debts if something happens to me, and you would be if we’re married. The whole institution seems like a bad idea to me.” He had made a lot of money in his life, and spent a lot of it financing his horse breeding and maintaining the farm, and then for his divorce, which was why he was so bitter about his ex-wife now—that and the fact that she had taken their son to South Africa. And she had just married her boyfriend, so she was staying, and he and his children would have to continue to fly back and forth to see each other, which was difficult and costly for him.
“I don’t need to get married. I just want to be with you.” She had no one to answer to but herself.
“That’s all I want too. So will you move to London to be with me?” he asked again. She didn’t need to think about it. She nodded. All she had to do was give up her apartment, pack her suitcases, grab her typewriter, and go. “How soon can you come?” She figured it out for a minute.
“In the next couple of weeks, sooner if I can. How long are you here for?”
“I have to go back tomorrow, we start shooting on the second.” It was tight, but he had come to spend New Year’s Eve with her.
They spent a magical night and saw the New Year in, and made plans for her arrival in London. She wanted to spend time at the farm, it would be a good place to write, and she could work in his apartment too, when he was working. It would be an enviable life, and she finally felt as though she had a home. Their plans were set by the time he left the next day.
When she notified the owner of her apartment that she was moving, they were sorry to hear it. She spent two days packing, and after that she went to see Rose just to touch base with her and talk about the new book.
“I smell a man,” Rose said, smiling at her, and Alex nodded, and told her who it was, and Rose was pleased. He had an excellent reputation and an impressive career. He was a respectable person, and they loved each other. That was enough for her. And Alex was almost twenty-six years old. It was a reasonable age to find a good guy and settle down, even if not officially. Alex had told her they weren’t getting married, and Rose said it didn’t matter, and Alex agreed.
The Right Time Page 26