He released my shoulder and I stumbled out of the suite, hearing the door slam behind me.
I managed to wait until I was in the elevator before breaking down. I leaned against its mirrored wall, racked by savage sobs. I cried from heartbreak, from shock, and most of all, from humiliation. I felt completely disempowered. I’d been such an innocent fool, believing it was my talent that had landed me this deal when instead it was only nepotism at work.
This was a marriage of convenience for Dave, one that allowed him to be financially comfortable and enjoy semi-celebrity status, while having the freedom to consort with whomever he fancied. No wonder he’d reconsidered the divorce, when being married to me was such a win-win for him.
If I signed another contract, which would provide money I desperately needed, it meant I’d have to play by Dave’s rules and accept it on his terms.
Toby had, in the cruelest way possible, explained to me that I was wholly dependent on Dave for my income.
“Ma’am?” A polite voice from behind me pierced my agony. “Ma’am, are you all right?”
I turned, rubbing tears away, my eyes swollen and stinging from the mascara that had run into them.
I’d reached the ground floor without even knowing it, and now a Chinese couple was waiting to enter the elevator. The person who was speaking to me was the male receptionist I’d seen in the lobby earlier. He’d obviously been called over to handle the unexpected problem of a woman delirious with grief.
With an effort, I pulled myself together enough to say, between sobs, “I’m fine thanks. I need to get to Heathrow urgently. Could you call me a cab?”
Tears consumed me once again. Pushing past the watchers, I fled to the ladies’ room.
Chapter 19
I kept my sunglasses on the entire flight, and only took them off when I was in the rental car in the airport parking lot, ready for the drive to Camden.
My parents’ new home, where they’d lived for the last few months, was a tiny ground floor apartment in a part of town where ranks of low-cost housing stood shoulder to shoulder with decaying high-rises. It wasn’t the safest of areas to drive alone at night. I’d only been there once before and that had been in daytime. But when I opened my iPad to program the address into the GPS, my heart stopped as I saw that Patrick had replied.
Snatching off the sunglasses, I clicked on the message with fingers that were clumsy from haste.
“Claire, I haven’t stopped thinking about you,” his mail began. “Walking away from you was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, and one of the stupidest. I believe in second chances—in third chances, even—and I believe in fighting for what I want. I want you more than I can explain. I need to see you again, and I’m more than prepared to wait while you sort your life out. I miss you. I feel like an idiot for leaving and I want to make it up to you as soon as I can. Love, Patrick.”
His words sent a rush of warmth through me. I read and reread them. I wanted to keep on looking at that last word, “love,” wondering what he’d been thinking while he typed it.
At the same time, though, I felt a huge sadness. Entering into a relationship with Patrick was not in the cards for now; not when I needed to spend three more years working to promote a brand I now loathed, in order to have any chance of supporting my parents.
If only I’d taken charge of the family finances earlier, put a tight rein on Dave’s spending. No wonder he’d been so profligate with the funds in our joint account—he had known they were only there thanks to him. I’d believed that because we were married, my money was also our money. Dave had spent so recklessly because he’d believed our money was his money.
We were still deeply in debt. The fancy house was a millstone around my neck, the cars weren’t paid for yet, and I didn’t know how I was going to stop Dave spending money on a whim, when he and I both had access to the same accounts. I didn’t know what I should write back to Patrick. There was nothing I could say. I looked one last time at that word, “Love,” before closing my emails and activating the GPS.
My mother was in bed by the time I arrived, but my dad told me she was awake and eager to see me.
“I hope the car will be okay,” he said. “We’ve had a couple of break-ins near here recently.”
“It has an alarm,” I reassured him, hoping that the rental would be fine overnight and I wouldn’t have to return it with a smashed window and missing radio.
I walked through to the master bedroom, where my mother’s special bed dominated the small space. The single futon where my father slept was squeezed into a corner. Last time I’d visited them I had been distracted and rushed, and I hadn’t noticed much. This time, I saw how meager the furnishings were, and how cramped the living area was. There were a few treasured ornaments missing that should have been on display, as well as a large cuckoo clock that had been mounted in the hallway of the old house. Perhaps these valuables were in storage because of the smaller space, but I feared that they had been sold.
“Claire!” my mother greeted me, beaming, and I hugged her tightly, knowing how much she longed to be able to hug me back. “So good to see you! How’s Dave? And how’s your arm feeling?”
I smiled down at her, loving her for her courage, the inner beauty that shone through even with the gray growing into her hair and the weight she’d lost. My father was also looking gaunt, as if the strain of caring for her singlehandedly had taken a toll he would never, ever admit to.
“I’ll tell you everything tomorrow, over breakfast,” I promised. “My treat.”
They’d prepared the sleeper couch in the living room, and I passed a restless night listening to the noise of traffic from the main road outside. Once, the sound of smashing glass had me on my feet and peering out of the window, but luckily it hadn’t come from the rental.
In the morning, I drove to the nearest good supermarket, a Fine Fare twenty minutes away, and bought bags of groceries for my parents, as well as some freshly made bacon and cheese croissants. On impulse, I added a carton of cream to the shopping cart. When I got back, we sat down to breakfast in the kitchen, my mother propped up in her wheelchair while Dad fed her sips of cream-topped coffee.
“This is delicious!” she exclaimed. “Mike, do I have a cream mustache? You’d better wipe it away if I do. I can’t talk to my daughter if all she’s seeing is my cream mustache!” Turning her head to me, she said, proudly, “Your dad’s been for three job interviews this week.”
“I’m trying to get a half-day position somewhere,” my father explained. “I’ll be able to fit that in as well as look after your mom. So far, no success, but you know, the jobs are out there. If I don’t keep applying, I’ll never find one, right?”
I didn’t share his optimistic attitude. At his age, in this economic climate, and in this depressed neighborhood, his chances weren’t so good. And any salary he earned would be spent on nurses’ fees because somebody would have to stay at home with my mom if he was out.
“How about you, Claire?” my mom asked. “You’re looking healthier than you did the last time I saw you. You’ve gotten some color into your cheeks, but you’re not looking happy. Tell me, what’s up?”
“I feel as if I’m at a crossroads,” I explained. “But I want to go in one direction while I’m being forced into another.”
My mother frowned. “Explain?” She opened her mouth for my dad to feed her a forkful of croissant.
I took a deep breath. And then it all came pouring out. My unhappiness in the marriage, Dave’s unfaithfulness. I even told my parents about Hassan and Ahmed, knowing I could trust them not to say a word.
My mother pressed her lips together and nodded sympathetically. Although I knew she couldn’t feel it, I leaned forward and squeezed her hand.
“Hassan is very lucky to have a friend like you,” she said. She paused for a minute. “So, who else is there in your life?”
My eyes widened.
“Um…how do you know there’s anyone?”
My father excused himself to make a fresh pot of coffee, mumbling something about needing to leave us girls to our girl talk.
“There is someone,” I said. “But it’s not going to work out between us. Financially, I have to stay with Dave. I’m going to be forced to. Because the sponsorship is due to him, not me; he holds all the aces.”
I swallowed. It was painful to have to admit I’d fooled myself into believing I’d deserved the money when College Sport had simply wanted to channel surplus profits to a family member.
“It’s so unfair,” my mother sympathized. “What College Sport has done is unethical and entirely wrong. The only person who’s conducted themselves with total integrity here is you, Claire. You’ve stood up for your friend at great personal cost, and now you’re having to make a difficult decision. I want you to promise you won’t think about us. With your dad looking for work, we’ll be okay. And once this bit of bad press has blown over, you can do other things. You could get a job teaching fencing, coaching juniors…”
“You’re right,” I said, with a confidence I didn’t feel. A teacher’s salary wouldn’t allow me to give my parents the support they required. They needed to move to a safer neighborhood. My dad had to take some time off; a part time nurse would make an enormous difference. What would happen if he fell sick? Right now, they were walking a tightrope with no contingency plans.
“You don’t want to end up trapped in a loveless relationship,” my mother warned me. “You never know what will happen in the future. Look at us. If your father and I didn’t love each other, where would we be now?” She sighed, her normally cheerful expression slipping to reveal tiredness and sorrow. “Sometimes, love is all that keeps me going.”
Chapter 20
I left my parents’ place feeling sobered. The time spent with them had given me a lot of food for thought. Why couldn’t life be simple? But it wasn’t, and I now had to deal with complications that were beyond my power to put right.
Dave’s brand new Audi RS5 cabriolet was in the driveway of our five-bedroom home. He’d bought it the day after the BMW had crashed, while I was still in hospital. I saw it was parked at its usual careless angle, as if he’d come home in a hurry and was heading out again.
A couple of unopened letters addressed to me lay on the hall table. A quick glance told me they were not important and could wait. There was also a colorful brochure for a new nightclub in Chelsea—the Bohemian Ballroom. I glanced at it, remembering the carefree time when a night out had meant dancing until the small hours.
“Hi there,” I called, replacing the brochure on the table. “Dave?”
“Hey, Claire! You’re back! Thought I was going to have to get in my car and come find you!” Filled with hearty humor, Dave’s voice boomed from the lounge.
Putting my bag down in the hallway, I walked through the double doors of the main entertainment area and into the lounge beyond. Dave had his feet up on one of the long leather couches. Remote in hand, he was surfing sport channels on the flat-screen TV that dominated the wall.
When I walked toward him, he stood up and gave me a quick hug.
Dave was nine years older than me, but only an inch taller; a fact that annoyed him and meant I was forbidden to wear high heels when we were out together. He was a broad, muscular man with a big personality; loud and outspoken, sometimes aggressive. It made him seem larger than he was. It occurred to me that during our marriage, his extroverted demeanor had ruled us both. I’d become quieter than I had been. His voice had silenced mine.
I made an effort to hug him back, not wanting to be close to him at all. His arms were not the ones I longed to have around me.
“So, Claire-bear, you had a little holiday? Come sit.” Resuming his relaxed position on the couch, he patted the seat beside him.
I sat, but further away from him than he’d indicated. He noticed the distance, I could tell; his eyes narrowed slightly.
Dave had started losing his hair in his mid-twenties and now kept his head shaved smooth, with a short goatee that added definition to his round face. It made him look older than his current age of thirty-seven, and it made him look more good-natured than he actually was. Many people had, in the past, been shocked by Dave’s outbursts of temper. Right then, I couldn’t tell what mood he was in.
“We got some talking to do, Claire-bear,” he said.
“I know,” I told him with a nod. I wished he’d put the remote down while he was speaking. I guess he found the flickering series of screens relaxing, as the picture shifted from motor racing to wrestling to football. Why couldn’t he find one channel he liked and stick to it?
With some bitterness, I realized I could ask a similar question about Dave and women.
“So, this divorce,” he said, finally leaving the remote alone and muting the volume. It was on some kind of ocean race. Blue sea filled the huge screen.
“Yes,” I said. My mouth felt dry.
“Claire, I rushed into it. I was angry. I was…” He sighed. “I guess I wasn’t thinking of the implications for you. What it would mean.”
“Oh,” I said. I sensed Dave hadn’t finished, that there was more to come. Sure enough, after a pause, he continued.
“We’re a team, you and me. I thought about this a long time and I figured if College Sport can forgive you, then so can I. If they’re prepared to renew your contract, it would be wrong of me to walk away. After all, we’re in this together, aren’t we?”
He gave me one of his trademark lightning grins. The smile didn’t warm his eyes. I became suddenly convinced that Dave knew all about the meeting I’d had with Daniel and Toby.
Did Dave really, in his way, still love me? Was this why he’d pushed for a second chance with College Sport? Or was another contract simply the easiest, most convenient way of guaranteeing his future income?
“You look worried,” he observed, his voice surprisingly gentle.
“I guess I’m unsure about the future.”
“Nothing to be unsure about,” he stated. “I’ve put a hold on divorce proceedings. We’ll finalize the new contract on Thursday. And I think we need to take a vacation together, before you go back into training.”
“A vacation?” I repeated, stunned. Dave and I hadn’t taken a non work-related trip together in years. Why now?
“Taking a week off won’t hurt your training program. We can fly out to the Setai; you know, that exclusive hotel in Miami Beach. Celebrate the contract renewal. Get some sunshine before winter. A second honeymoon.”
A week at the Setai…I didn’t know of the place, but guessed it would be very expensive. Once again, he was spending money before it had even landed in our account; but as his words sank in I realized that wasn’t even the main issue here.
A second honeymoon?
Did he seriously want our marriage to continue for real? Or was this just another one of his good intentions, like saving money every month, which would fall by the wayside like all the others?
Either way, it wasn’t what I wanted. As my resolve crystallized, I sensed that he could read my decision in my face.
“You don’t look happy, Claire.” Now he sounded accusing.
“I’m not happy.” My voice was so quiet he leaned forward, frowning.
“Why’s that?”
“Because marriage isn’t a business decision.”
“What? Of course it isn’t. That’s why…”
“I married you because I was in love with you. But I don’t think we looked after the marriage, Dave. It became—well, I guess it became like a business relationship. We looked after the Claire Harvey brand. But in between my training and competing and all the sponsorship events, we didn’t look after us. It was partly my fault, I know. I was so tired so much of the time. But we ended up with no intimacy. No closeness…and I know you looked for it elsewhere.”
I was going to explain more, but Dave interrupted me, his voice loud; the vei
n in his forehead, always a sign of his temper, becoming visible.
“What the hell d’you mean by that?”
“You know what I mean.”
“Claire, I’ve never cheated on you! Ever. How the hell can you say such a thing? How can you think…?” The vein in his forehead was raised now, his face flushed. “I can’t believe you’re saying this, seriously. You’re the one who’s had half-naked photo’s plastered all over the media, and I’m the one who’s cheated?” He was shouting now, his words battering me.
“Dave, I…”
“Show me the goddamned proof!”
What proof did I have? Only the noises that I’d heard that night, in his hotel suite. At the time I’d been sure. Those soft cries, the sounds of rapid breathing, had ripped my heart apart. They had been the sound of betrayal, confirmed by the fact that Dave had no longer wanted to be physically close to me…that for the last year, the closest we’d been was when he put his arm around me in public.
But now, his vehement denial was causing doubt to creep in. What if I had misheard, or been wrong? All I had was my own memories. Oh, and there were the photos Patrick had mentioned…but they could have been innocent shots simply taken at the wrong time. I could sympathize with that.
For a minute, the only sound in the room was Dave’s rough breathing. Then, in a more controlled voice, he said, “Look, Claire, let’s not fight about this. Let’s just admit we both made mistakes. You had this incident with the Saudi guy…”
“He’s Moroccan!”
“Yeah, whatever. And I didn’t pay you enough attention. I guess we both put your career first. But that’s gonna change, starting with our second honeymoon. So. What do you say?”
Soaring Page 16