“I won’t.”
CHAPTER 41
Monday, 23rd December
Robert was wheezing like an old man when Stephanie took up her position on the treadmill alongside him. He grunted a greeting but didn’t let up the pace. When she’d convinced him to join the gym, she hadn’t really imagined that he would stick with it, but he’d surprised her by keeping his twice-weekly appointments. Once he had gotten over the initial shock to his system, he almost seemed to enjoy it. She’d seen some slight improvements to his body, especially around his stomach, but his pecs still needed a lot of work. After his first session, she’d convinced him to go for a tan, and that went a long way toward disguising some of his flabby sins. She had noted the last time they made love that he’d continued to top up the tan.
She started up the treadmill. “Sorry I’m late. The office is closing today, and there were drinks in the boardroom.”
“No problem,” he panted. “I got your message. Any issues in work about . . . ?”
“About us? Nothing. No mentions. And I did hear through the grapevine that it looks as if you got the DaBoyz gig.”
“That’s great! I mean, I think that’s great. Theresa said two of the guys are gay.”
Stephanie shook her head. “So? Is that a problem?”
“No. Not at all. But she also said there were lots of tweets that they’re thinking about breaking up.”
Stephanie bit back a flicker of irritation. Robert hadn’t even known what Twitter was before she had taught him the importance and relevance of social networking. She helped him set up his company’s Twitter, Facebook, and Pinterest accounts—all in the name of better branding R&K. Keeping them competitive. It should be of no interest to him if the band were straight, gay, or on the verge of breaking up. All he had to do was concentrate on the video. “They were. That’s why this single is so important. There’s been a lot of investment in this group, and the investors are unwilling to cut loose their potential cash cow without one last shot. That’s you, by the way. Do the video right, and you will have saved a lot of people a lot of money. Screw it up, however, and you’ll never work in this town again.” She laughed to take the sting from her words.
“I’m not sure whether you’re joking or serious.”
“A bit of both, I think. You’ll do a great job. Remember, I’ve staked my career on it.”
“So, no pressure there then,” he murmured.
“And I’m sorry about yesterday. I really wanted to see you, but I’d already agreed to go shopping with Izzie before . . .”
Robert glanced sidelong at her and smiled. “Before?”
“Before us.”
“It was probably just as well. It gave me a chance to get a lot done in the office. If you and I had gotten together, we would have . . .”
She looked at him seductively. “What would we have done?”
“Talked. Planned.”
“I know. You’ve made me so happy. Even Izzie is pleased.”
“One of these days I’d like to meet this mysterious Izzie.”
“She’s looking forward to meeting you too. I’ve told her a lot about you.”
“I suppose she was surprised by the news.”
“More like stunned. I said we’d get together after Christmas and celebrate. She’s paying.”
“Good.” Robert began to run faster. “Why is she paying?”
“Because she once bet me the best meal money could buy that you would never leave your wife for me.”
“Well, let’s make sure that’s an expensive bet. I’ll book Top of the Hub myself for this one.”
They ran in silence for a while, then Stephanie asked the question that had been troubling her ever since Izzie had raised it the previous day. “Have you given any further thought to Christmas?”
“I’ve thought about nothing else,” he said quickly.
“Will you spend Christmas Day with me?”
Before he answered he reached down to increase the speed of the machine, and she had an inkling of the answer. He was now running hard, breath coming in great, heaving gasps. “No,” he said eventually.
His answer chilled her, and something must have shown on her face, because Robert said immediately, “Be reasonable.” Realizing that he was shouting above the noise of the machine, he leaned closer to her.
“Be reasonable. I can hardly go to Kathy and the kids tonight or tomorrow and say, ‘Guess what, I’m leaving. Merry Christmas.’ Can I?”
Well, when he put it like that, it sounded perfectly reasonable. But of course, all his excuses sounded reasonable. “No, of course not.” She nodded, not sure what she was hearing. Was he backtracking on what he had said on Saturday, or was this perfectly genuine? She needed a few moments to think. But her initial reaction was that the bastard was backing down.
If he walked away from her now, having proposed to her, having gotten her hopes up, having made her incredibly, unreasonably happy, then she would go to his wife and tell her. If he hurt her like that, then she would hurt him back! She didn’t like the person Robert was making her into. A jealous, bitter girlfriend. His actions were not backing up his words, and it was making her crazy.
“But I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“And when do you intend to tell her?” she asked. His answer had helped a little, but she needed more, she needed something definite, something she could hold onto, something she could count on.
“I was thinking the twenty-seventh, which is Friday.”
“Why not Thursday?”
“Well, we’re committed to going over to her sister’s for dinner. It’s a family tradition. All the arrangements have been made.”
Something like panic was beginning to creep in around her now. Panic and a terrible anger. When Robert had told her on Saturday that he wanted to be with her, she’d somehow imagined that meant Christmas Day, but when she had rerun the conversation again, she had realized that he’d never actually committed to any timeframe. “So what am I supposed to do for Christmas Day? Hang around until you appear?” Stephanie was angry. What did Robert expect? Knowing what he had promised, was she supposed to treat Christmas like an ordinary weekday? Do her laundry? Watch television? Was it going to be another Merry-lonely-Christmas?
“Look, I’ll tell her on Friday, and I’ll spend New Year’s Eve with you,” he said, trying to placate her, although not exactly answering her question. “We’ll bring in the New Year together. Come on; meet me halfway on this. This is a big decision, a huge move for me to make. You’ve got yourself to think of; I’ve got Kathy and the kids to consider.”
“You’re right, of course. Absolutely right.” Now that she had her definitive dates, she’d swap Christmas for New Year’s. It was more symbolic anyway: new starts, fresh beginnings, ushering in the New Year together. “Another couple of days won’t make that much difference to us. And Christmas Day is really just another Wednesday.”
They switched from the treadmills onto the bikes. She started pedaling. Robert tried to keep up with her for a few minutes but couldn’t and slowed back down to a moderate pace. “So, I have a proposition,” he said when he’d gotten his breath back.
Stephanie continued cycling as she looked at him. She was still breathing evenly. “Another one?”
“It’s about the company. R&K Productions. You know the K stands for Kathy and that she has a fifty percent share in it?”
“I know that,” Stephanie said cautiously. What was he talking about? Maybe he was thinking of selling the company.
“I was wondering if you’d like to join me in the company, take over Kathy’s share. We could call it R&S Productions. That is, if I can buy Kathy out, of course.”
She looked at him in blank surprise. Whatever she had been expecting him to ask her, it hadn’t been this. She eased up on the bike, allowed the wheel to spin to a stop. There was no easy way to say this, but it had to be said, and better he hear it from her. She took a moment to try and phrase the response as diplomaticall
y as possible.
“I’m not sure I’d want to give up my present position. I’m rising fairly rapidly in the agency, and I would think going to work in your company might be seen as a retrograde step, career-wise.”
Robert started to laugh, then she watched the laughter die on his lips as he realized she was serious.
And, since he had raised the issue of the business, she thought she might as well tell him the rest. If he was being totally honest with her—and she thought he was—then she owed it to him.
“The other thing we’ll have to bear in mind is that, obviously, I won’t be able to send any more business your way. It wouldn’t look good for me to be seen to be pushing business to my partner’s company.”
He looked as if he had been struck. “No more business . . .”
“Not from me. But I’ll keep my ear to the ground. I’ll keep you well up to speed with what’s happening in the industry. Anyway,” she continued, “I was thinking you might close R&K.”
“What?” Beneath his tan she could see that he’d actually paled. Had he been counting that much on the work she could get him?
“Maybe get a job with one of the big advertising agencies or production companies.” She pandered to his ego. “You’d be a huge asset, Robert. You have a great deal of experience.”
He wouldn’t look at her now, merely stared straight ahead with what looked like a defiant—or sullen—expression on his face.
“It would be easier on you mentally and physically,” she pressed on. “There would be a steady paycheck, and you could walk out at six and not have to think about the job again until the following morning. Your weekends would be yours again. Ours.”
“But I’d be working for someone. I’ve been my own boss for a long time.”
“At the moment you’re working for Kathy and the children and the bank. They’re your boss. This way you end up with more free time, time to spend with me. Time to spend with your children,” she added.
He started laughing, a dry rasp, which turned into a cough.
Stephanie climbed off the bike and thumped his back. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. I was just thinking . . .”
“Thinking what?”
“That you’re some sort of catalyst. Change happens around you.”
She leaned into him, deliberately pushing her breasts against his chest. “We make our own changes, but sometimes you just need someone or something to do a little nudging.” Izzie had nudged her; she had nudged Robert. “I’m going to take a shower.” She spun away, aware that he—and some of the other men in the gym—were watching, and enjoying their attention.
Next year was going to be so different, so very, very different.
“So, what are your thoughts about babies?” Stephanie asked. She had stepped out of the dressing room to find Robert leaning against the wall, checking his messages. He put the phone away and kissed her quickly, and she laced her fingers through his. The sudden thought had come out of the blue while she was showering, and she figured she might as well put all of the cards on the table.
“I hadn’t thought about it. I mean, I have two teenagers already,” Robert said as they walked across the foyer toward the entrance. She realized he must have sensed her vulnerability when he added quickly, “But I’m not opposed to the idea. What do you think?”
“Honestly, I’m not sure. I mean, I think I’d like children,” she said as they came out into the bitter night air. She’d never thought about having kids before he’d proposed on Saturday. And now she couldn’t stop thinking about them. And if she wanted them or not. Many of her friends had babies and toddlers, and she recognized the extraordinary amount of work that went into rearing a child. She had nothing but admiration for women who managed to juggle a career and family, but the very nature of her job, which involved travel and odd hours, made having a child simply out of the question. Well, out of the question if she was alone. But if she had a partner . . . that might be different. Maybe this was what she had first seen in Robert: the possibilities. She had looked at the lonely, slightly desperate, trapped man and recognized the potential surrounding him. When they were together, and when the time was right, she would love to have a child. Boy or girl, it didn’t matter; it would be theirs.
“If you did want children, when would you like to have them?” he wondered.
“Not immediately of course,” she said, just in case he had any ideas about an instant family. She squeezed his fingers, relishing the warmth and strength of them. “Well, it’s a bit of a Catch-22. I’m thirty-three now. My biological clock is definitely ticking. I can’t wait too long, and yet, I need another two years at least before I’m promoted. Then we could start trying for the year after that.”
But was thirty-five too old to be thinking about conceiving a first child? Did she want to have to deal with in vitro and all of the new technologies that made having a kid later in life possible? It was expensive and time-consuming. Her mother had had her and her siblings the old-fashioned way when she was in her early twenties. And Stephanie’s mother had managed just fine. If Stephanie was going to have a baby, now was definitely the most logical time. Maybe she’d think about a career break, have the baby then go back to work, possibly in a part-time capacity. She wasn’t necessarily the most maternal person, but she could manage a kid. Couldn’t she? Besides, Robert would help her. She knew he would. He adored his own children and, from what she understood, they loved him. He would be a wonderful father to a child. To their child.
Stephanie smiled as she walked toward her car. Her entire world was changing. She was looking at possibilities that simply hadn’t existed forty-eight hours ago.
The cars were parked alongside one another in the darkened corner of the street. Stephanie and Robert hit their electronic car door openers together, and both sets of lights blinked simultaneously.
Robert opened her car door, and she threw her gym bag onto the passenger seat, then turned to him. She loved this man. And she would love to have his child. She reached up, pressed the palm of her right hand against the back of his skull to bring his head down to a level with hers. “Think of all the fun we’ll have practicing to conceive children,” she whispered. Then she kissed him, passionately and deeply. Finally they broke apart, panting slightly. Without saying another word, Stephanie climbed into the car, waved once, and drove away. She was thinking about baby names as she glanced in the rearview mirror and saw him still standing by his car, talking on the phone.
And would she keep her own name or take his?
She quite liked Walker. She tried it out, saying it aloud. “Stephanie Burroughs-Walker.” No, just Stephanie Walker. That’s what she would become.
Mrs. Walker.
CHAPTER 42
Christmas Eve
Tuesday, 24th December
When Stephanie Burroughs opened the hall door, she instantly recognized the woman standing on the doorstep. A dozen emotions flickered through her—shock, fear, anger . . . and, surprisingly, relief.
“Hello, Stephanie.”
“Hello, Mrs. Walker. Kathy.”
On the drive over, Kathy Walker had rehearsed her conversation with Stephanie Burroughs a hundred different ways. She’d gone through every emotion: from anger to resignation, from disgust to horror, and what was left was . . . nothing. An emptiness. A hollow feeling inside.
She knew, right up to the moment she pressed the doorbell, what she was going to say to her husband’s mistress, but when Stephanie Burroughs opened the door and looked at her with instant recognition in her eyes, all of Kathy’s carefully laid plans, her nicely ordered words and phrases deserted her. Instead, she stepped forward and cracked Stephanie across the face with the flat of her hand.
The two women blinked at one another, each surprised, shocked, horrified by what had just taken place. Kathy felt herself start to shake; she’d never raised a hand to another person in her life.
Stephanie pressed her hand against her stinging chee
k. She had absolutely no intention of striking back. She bore the woman no animosity; Kathy had done nothing wrong. Almost from the very first moments of her relationship with Robert, Stephanie had been dreading—and expecting—an encounter with Robert’s wife. She knew once Robert told Kathy that he was leaving, she could expect a visit. And if she ever ended up calling at the home of her husband’s mistress, she’d belt her one too.
“I’m sorry!” Kathy began, abruptly breathless. “I promised myself I wasn’t going to do that. I’m sorry.”
Stephanie hadn’t been expecting a visit this soon; she hadn’t thought Robert was going to tell his wife until after Christmas.
Kathy gathered herself. “We can . . . ,” she began, but her voice was trembling with emotion. She swallowed hard and tried again. “We can have this conversation here on your doorstep, or you can let me in.”
Stephanie looked at the woman. She didn’t want to speak to her . . . but somewhere deep inside her, she felt a twinge of sympathy. Kathy deserved an answer. Mrs. Moore’s curtains twitched, making the decision for Stephanie. She moved aside. “Yes, absolutely, you should come up.”
The older woman hesitated a moment, then nodded and stepped into the foyer. Stephanie directed her through the door on the left to number 8, up the stairs to Stephanie’s apartment, where she found herself standing in a large room with skylights that was a combination living room and dining room.
Stephanie took her time closing the door, composed herself. There were tears in her eyes, more from the fright than the slap across the face. She glanced at herself in the hall mirror: The imprint of Kathy’s fingers was clear on her pale cheek.
Stephanie hung back in the doorway, a hand pressed to her cheek, and watched Robert’s wife. The woman was not entirely as she remembered her: older certainly, the skin on the face sagging a little, black bags under bloodshot eyes. She was simply dressed in a cream blouse over black pants, with plain jewelry, a gold necklace, a gold bracelet, and gold wedding and engagement rings. Stephanie got the impression that Kathy Walker had taken some time dressing for this encounter.
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