by Harper Bliss
“She’s fifty-three,” Nadia said.
“She is?” Margot had to admit that Dievart didn’t look her age at all. Then again, she didn’t look like many things she actually was.
“Hm-mm,” Nadia hummed.
Margot couldn’t help but wonder how comfortable Nadia was with all of this. Not only with the fact that she was discussing confidential information about another employee, but that this was Marie Dievart they were discussing. “And let me guess,” Margot had yet another hunch. She was on fire today. “At least eighty percent of the recommendations are given by men?” Margot clearly remembered how Dr. Andres had fawned like a hormonal school girl when he’d heard Dievart was joining Saint-Vincent. He still did to this day.
Nadia examined the papers again. “Out of the fifteen references, which is, truth be told, a little over the top, fourteen are made by male doctors and superiors.”
“That’s what I thought.” Margot all but punched her fist in the air.
“That is really all I can tell you. Her résumé is very impressive, by the way,” Nadia said. “Which is why I had no choice but to hire her.”
“Thanks, Nadz.” Margot shot up out of her chair. “I can find out the rest myself.” As she exited Nadia’s office, Margot worked out her plan of attack. If Dievart believed she could come to work at Saint-Vincent, throw her weight around a bit, charm all the men with that seductive stare of hers, and get another recommendation out of it, she had another thing coming. She had messed with the wrong woman and Margot de Hay was on to her.
JULIETTE
“I need to tell you something, Jules. Something you will not want to hear,” Claire said while rubbing her fingers ceaselessly over the knuckle of her index finger.
She must be very nervous, Juliette thought, although this was hardly news to her because since Juliette had arrived an hour ago, Claire had been out of sorts. She’d broken a wine glass and when Juliette had helped her pick up the pieces, she had noticed how Claire’s hands had been shaking. But Juliette hadn’t pushed. If Claire was making a spectacle of inviting Juliette to her home like this, Juliette would give her friend the time to work up the nerve to tell her what it was Juliette had come here to hear. Not that she wasn’t burning with curiosity, and her mind wasn’t racing with possibilities. Did she want to leave the company? It would explain the display of nerves. But where would she go?
“I’m all ears.” Juliette sat at the edge of her seat. Now she was getting worked up as well.
“I—I’ve been seeing someone,” Claire stammered.
Just hearing these words was already a relief to Juliette. It didn’t have anything to do with the company. Maybe it was a man, then? Why else would Claire go about telling Juliette in this way?
“Okay…” Juliette felt her limbs relax.
“There’s no easy way to say this, Jules. It’s Marie. Marie Dievart.” Claire bowed her head. “I know how horrible that is, and how utterly disrespectful to our friendship.”
Juliette couldn’t speak. Her brain was too busy—and too baffled—processing this information. Juliette had, very graciously she believed, given Claire a huge break after she’d seen her best friend and the woman her wife had cheated on her with arrive together at the hospital the night of Margot’s accident. She’d as good as brushed it off as Claire grieving for the end of her relationship with Margot. Additionally, Juliette had found relief in the fact that, according to Claire, they hadn’t ‘done anything’. Claire had just made a grave error of judgement and Juliette, who had so much else going on in her life then, had decided to forgive her, because she had an estranged family to deal with, and a fiancée to marry, and an ever-growing child wish to occupy her mind with. And now Claire was telling her that she’d actually been seeing Dievart. Surely this must be a joke, because if it wasn’t, Claire had betrayed their friendship in the worst way possible. If this was true, Claire might as well have said, “You mean nothing to me, Jules. Or at least less than the thrill of sleeping with Marie Dievart.”
“This is not true, I hope. Tell me you’re playing some sick joke on me. Oh, and it’s really not funny.” Juliette’s heart was pounding. She felt tears prick behind her eyes. Of course it was true. She knew it, she just didn’t want to accept it.
“I’m so, so sorry, Jules.”
“How long?” Juliette felt herself go stone cold on the inside. It didn’t matter that the woman sitting across from her was the best friend she had ever had. The friend who had helped her through the worst time of her life when her parents had shunned her. How could she have done this to her?
“Just a couple of months. It was never serious.”
Every word Claire said was like a vicious slap in Juliette’s face. A couple of months? “This just keeps getting worse and worse.” Juliette’s tone matched how she felt inside. Just like she had done with her family twenty-five years ago, she was cutting Claire Cyr out of her heart on the spot. “Just don’t tell me any more. Just—” Juliette was at a loss for words. She remembered how she had felt after seeing Claire and Dievart together at Saint-Vincent after Margot’s accident. And after Nadia had confessed to her one-night stand with the neurosurgeon. The utter worthlessness and belief that she would never matter as much to the people she loved than they did to her.
Was this her fault? Had she somehow driven her best friend into the arms of this ruthless doctor? Juliette had met her that night at the hospital. She was breathtakingly beautiful, sure, but was that all that mattered now? “Who else knows?” she then asked, because it suddenly hit her that Nadia’d had this knowing air about her before Juliette left earlier.
“Nadia found out. She made me tell you.” Claire was a blubbering mess, but Juliette was hardly going to get up and put her arms around her. “And she told Margot. I only ever talked about it with Steph.”
“So everyone but me. Again.” It was as though Juliette could feel the blood in her veins go ice-cold. “How long has Nadia known?” Just when she thought she had all her ducks in a row, and felt in a good enough place to put what mattered to her most first, something liked this happened. Again.
“I’m not sure. Not long. Dievart told her.” Claire seemed to gather herself. She tried to straighten her posture a bit. “I know there’s no excuse for what I’ve done, Jules. But please know that I never meant to hurt you. I knew it would, but that… er, was… I don’t know. I got sucked in. It wasn’t meant to go on for that long.”
“Save it, Claire. I know exactly what it means. It means that the unfortunate side-effect of hurting me while you slept with her didn’t matter enough to you to not do it. It’s very simple. At least now I know where I stand with my best friend.” Juliette hated that her voice broke a little, but how could it not when, as she had just said, this was how her best friend treated her. “You know, I always believed I was the most flawed one of all of us. The most damaged by my past. The most selfish and self-absorbed and protective of my own interests, but you can be absolutely sure that I would never, ever do what you have done to me. Never. You take the crown now. I hope you enjoy wearing it.” Then another thought occurred to Juliette. “When did it start exactly?”
Claire wiped some tears from her cheeks before speaking. “Not long after the accident.”
Juliette rose, because, as far as she was concerned, these might very well be last words she ever spoke to this woman who had gone from her best friend to the worst kind of traitor in the span of ten minutes. “So, you mean to tell me that when you were the witness at my wedding, when you signed that piece of paper for me at la mairie, you did so with thoughts of that woman in your head? The woman who nearly wrecked my relationship with Nadia.” Juliette took a deep breath. “And you call yourself my friend?” Juliette knew it was irrational—but what wasn’t under these circumstances— but it felt as though Claire had managed to negatively taint the most beautiful day of her life. That day that had brought Nadia and her so close together, and launched them on a different path. Now, notions of Marie
Dievart were attached to the memory of their wedding day, and the whole thing left an even more foul taste in her mouth. “Fuck you, Claire. Really, just fuck you. I hope she brings you a lot of joy, and friendship, and company and fuck knows what else, because you can consider yourself de-friended.” Juliette couldn’t hold back a few tears streaming down her own cheeks, because underneath all the rage and betrayal, she was already hurting for losing Claire. This was Claire Cyr, the woman who—apart from her wife—knew her better than anyone. The woman she owned a company with.
Juliette had been wrong. This revelation was far worse than Claire wanting to quit Barbier & Cyr because now, they would somehow need to find a way to work together. It would be impossible. This grief would stretch into their professional lives when, now, of all times, they were doing such important work. Claire had managed to destroy that as well.
“I know you’re angry, but can I say just one more thing,” Claire pleaded.
“If you must,” Juliette replied, knowing full well that there was nothing Claire could say right now to change any of this.
“She doesn’t mean anything to me. It is, er, was just sex—”
“Do yourself a favor and shut your mouth. I don’t want to hear it.” And don’t you realize I had to hear the exact words coming from Nadia’s mouth? “I don’t care what it was or wasn’t, but whatever it was, I do hope it was spectacular enough to lose me over.” A sob escaped Juliette’s throat. She had to get out of there now. She turned away from Claire. Beautiful, regal Claire who had never really had a lot of luck in love. Did she really think so little of herself to go hanging out with the likes of Dievart? It didn’t matter anymore. Juliette was done with Claire. She had just blown up the longest friendship of her life.
“I’m sorry, Jules. I’m so sorry.” Claire was just repeating herself now. Of course she was sorry. She had just, literally, fucked herself out of everything that was good in her life.
“Screw you, Claire.” I hope I’ll never have to see your sorry face again, Juliette wanted to say, but she didn’t have that luxury. She’d be looking straight into that traitor’s face again the coming Monday. Unless she did what she should have done years ago.
CLAIRE
In a way, it had gone exactly the way Claire had expected it to go. But, in another way, it had gone so much worse. That look on Juliette’s face. She would never be able to erase that from her memory. That look of initial disbelief that had been so quickly replaced by utter disdain. She’d lost Jules. She’d been so very, very stupid, and she’d lost her oldest friend.
Automatically, she sauntered to the drinks cabinet, avoiding the mirror that flanked it—unsure if she’d ever be able to look at her reflection again. She poured herself a large measure of cognac, and gulped it down as though it was water.
What should she do now? The only person she could conceivably have a conversation with about this was Steph, but Steph was always busy these days, and would only scold her some more. Claire could do without the I-told-you-so’s. She had no one. Actually no, she did have a text from Marie in her phone from this afternoon. I’m free tonight. That’s all it said. Claire hadn’t actually had the opportunity—or the courage—to end their affair. She was that much of a coward. Oh how different everything was now that it was all out in the open. Gone were her justifications that she was doing this just for her, and why shouldn’t she? She cringed at the thought of how she had defended herself against Nadia. And how had she been able to look Juliette in the eye all this time? Where had she found the nerve to stand up for her at her wedding?
She filled her glass again and repeated the process of knocking the contents back. She’d done her worst now. She had no one whose shoulder she could cry on. Despite everything, Juliette had always had Nadia. But Claire, once again, had absolutely no one. And wasn’t that what it came down to?
Claire staggered to the sofa and considered her options. She found her phone and looked at Marie’s message. She had actually told Nadia? After Claire had begged her to keep their affair a secret. She should have known that she wasn’t to be trusted, but her mind was too blown by the climaxes Marie Dievart coaxed from her—and wasn’t that the absolute weakest defense in human history? She texted back: It’s over. Don’t contact me again. A few simple words to end the whole thing with—the very thing Claire had allowed to destroy her life. Claire somehow knew that Dievart wouldn’t take this well. She didn’t strike Claire as a woman who got dumped but rather as someone who did the dumping. But there, she’d said it. And what was she going to do? Tell Juliette?
Claire toyed with her phone. She knew she couldn’t stay home alone in her flat all weekend. Living on the same street as Juliette and Nadia had been a fun idea when she’d first bought her flat seven years ago, but now, it was just another piece of evidence of how intertwined their lives had been, and of how Claire had so expertly screwed that up. Juliette would not forgive her. She knew that much. She would lose Nadia as well in the process, that was a given. She’d sort of lost Steph to the whirlwind of being part of a presidential campaign as soon as that YouTube video of her and Dominique had been uploaded. Steph was not available to her as a friend right now. Not that Claire thought she wouldn’t make the effort to come over if she asked her to, but she was both her and Juliette’s friend and employee. Besides not wanting to force her to take sides, Claire knew Steph didn’t need this drama right now. Especially because she had predicted it.
There was really only one person Claire could call. So she did.
As soon as Margot picked up, Claire burst into tears. She managed to push the word Hello out of her throat, but that was it.
“Claire? What’s going on?” Margot asked. But all Claire could do was sob into the receiver. “Claire?” Panic grew in Margot’s voice. “Are you at home? Just tell me that. Just tell me where to meet you and I’ll be there as soon as traffic allows,” Margot said.
“Yes,” Claire said between sobs. “Yes, I’m home.”
Margot hung up but Claire sat with her phone clasped between her fingers for long moments after. Because she didn’t deserve the kindness Margot was going to bestow upon her. She didn’t deserve any of it. But at least, this time, when Margot sped along the Boulevard Gouvion Saint-Cyr—no longer on her motorbike—Claire would be home.
✶ ✶ ✶
“I take it things have come out,” Margot said after Claire had let her in. Claire had downed two more generous glasses of brandy and was beginning to feel very light-headed. She hadn’t been able to touch any of the Chinese take-out she’d gotten for her and Juliette to share because she’d been too nervous to eat.
“I’m a monster, Margot.”
“You’re no such thing.” Margot walked into Claire’s flat as though they’d never broken up. The accident and subsequent fracture of her leg also didn’t seem to have any effect on the confidence of her stride. Just as she’d always done, Margot draped her leather jacket over the back of a chair—always the same one—and sat down in the sofa, her dark eyes intense and brooding. “We all make mistakes. Trust me, I know all about that.”
“Maybe spur-of-the-moment bad decisions,” Claire said. “Do you want a drink?”
“I don’t drink anymore,” Margot said. Of course she didn’t. Just like Margot would never climb on a motorbike anymore, she would have the iron will to never let a drop of alcohol cloud her judgement ever again.
“Do you mind if I have one?” Claire was already meandering towards the drinks cabinet, which she hadn’t bothered to close the last time she’d gone for a refill.
“Claire, please sit down. I think you’d be better off with a cup of coffee right now. I’ll make some in a minute.”
Claire obeyed without protest. She sat down next to Margot and clutched her knees to her chest, feeling mighty sorry for herself. “I have absolutely nothing to show for in my life. I have nothing, except for a company that’s about to fall apart because of what I did. Because of”—she had to shake her head at the ridicu
lousness of it—“sex.” Claire actually managed a chuckle. “For the past six months, sex with Marie fucking Dievart has been more important to me than anything. I deserve to lose everything because of it. I don’t even have any friends left.” Claire let herself droop to the side so her shoulder touched Margot. “You’re the only one I could call.”
“I’m still your friend, Claire. You can always count on me.” Margot’s voice was serious. “I’m glad you know that.”
“But I treated you just as badly. I didn’t bother visiting you. It was too hard. I just—didn’t see the point anymore.”
“Don’t worry about any of that.” Margot turned towards her, making Claire lose her balance for an instant. “I’m here for you.”
“Why?” Claire asked after she’d found a stable position again. “Why are you here for me? I surely don’t deserve your sympathy.”
“Friendship is not about deserving it, Claire. It’s about being there for each other no matter what.”
“Not when you’ve slept with your best friend’s wife’s ex-mistress.” Tears stood at the ready behind Claire’s eyes again.
“Well, yes, there are exceptions, of course—” Margot was interrupted by the chime of the bell. Claire’s limbs went stiff. “Are you expecting anyone else?” Margot asked.
“No.” Claire shook her head absentmindedly. “It can only be Jules.” A loud knocking on the front door startled them again. “She has the door code.” As she said the words, Claire remembered who else had the door code.
The knocking persisted, now accompanied by a voice Claire knew all too well. “Claire? Are you in there? Let me in.”
“Oh, fuck. She’s here.” Claire let her face drop into her hands.
“I’ll deal with her.” Margot rose. “I’ll tell her to take a hike and never come back.” Margot walked to the door and pulled it open violently. “Go away,” she said to Dievart. “You’re not welcome here.”