‘What happened to discretion? I thought we’d agreed not to flaunt our wealth? It invites trouble. You know that.’
I didn’t know that the couple who were the guests of honour at our wedding were quite so well-known locally. It certainly wasn’t obvious. They were kind and humble despite their great wealth. They offered, no insisted on paying for our wedding. How was I to know that there was a newspaper photographer and journalists there among the many guests? I wrongly assumed that the day was about me, the bride. I didn’t fully understand why one bracelet mattered so much.
Of course, I do now.
I wish that I hadn’t worn the bracelet. It ruined what should have been a perfect day. Sam bought me orchids to apologise for his anger, but a bunch of flowers, however beautiful, couldn’t undo what had been done. That tiny error of judgement is still haunting me because my wrist is now highlighted in the photo, with a red halo of marker pen. Beside it, these words are scrawled:
Dear Mr Mason, (Seems strange to think of Lewis as Mr Mason)
We feel it is our duty to warn you that you are harbouring a thief.
With best and kind-intentioned regards,
A victim and those who care about them.
‘Bloody hell,’ I say, looking up at Lewis.
‘What’s this all about?’
I hesitate, hardly knowing how to explain. ‘It was Sam’s ex’s bracelet,’ I begin. ‘I thought he had bought it for me at the time. But he should never have given it to me, because it wasn’t his to give. It then went missing after I’d worn it, and I have no idea where it is now. I don’t appreciate being called a thief.’ True.
Lewis had been right about Sam, all along. I hate admitting that, even now. He gently warned me to hold back a bit. The truth is that no one who truly knows Sam likes him. The only people who love him don’t know the real him.
‘So it’s Sam this person really needs to be in touch with.’ Lewis shrugs. ‘If his ex-girlfriend ever returns.’
Thank God. He still has my back.
‘Seems odd, though, after all this time. You and Sam . . .’ He hesitates, before pointing out the obvious. ‘You guys weren’t married for long.’
I shrug, pretending that I’m not rattled. But I am. I dread to think what other photos Whoever It Is will manage to unearth. Sam and I were careful, but it’s impossible to hide completely.
When Lewis goes to bed, I lock myself in my room. Sam’s memory stick is password-protected but it is one of the passwords we used jointly, which means he wanted me to gain access. Still, around a quarter of his files are encrypted. It will take time to get myself into Sam’s head and figure out exactly what is hidden here. I make copies of all the encrypted files. This is Sam all over. He trusts me, yet he doesn’t. He needs me, but also resents the fact that he does. I browse through the few files I can access. It’s all the usual mundane life admin, like the paperwork from buying our house in Devon, along with title deeds to an apartment in Cardiff I didn’t know anything about. Mortgage applications, buildings and contents insurance, bills he’s paid. CVs. A pension I’m surprised he paid into. Bills he hasn’t. There are loan applications from his student days.
Exhaustion takes hold. Since receiving the threat, I have lived on adrenaline. I have been kidding myself, thinking that I could turn over the proverbial new leaf without fully exorcising the past. The truth is that once the shock of potentially getting caught wore off, I was able to rewrite the story, bury the shame and the guilt. But I’m pulled constantly, craving a better life, yet tugged back to the past.
When I stood in that customs queue, abandoned by Sam, terrified, I made a silent bargain with God, the universe, anyone or anything that could protect me. I promised that I would be a good person for the rest of my life, if only I was saved. I had seen the error of my ways, seen how I had been too trusting, too selfish. I was going to do better, help others, be a valuable member of society.
Upon my return, I was so grateful not to be imprisoned that I would have been almost happy to live anywhere, work anywhere. But shock wears off. Complacency weaves back in. The desire for the nicer things in life took hold. Nonetheless, I stayed true to my own code of conduct. I have resisted any desire to revert to my old ways. Having said all that, life is expensive. I had forgotten the value of money, had no clue how to budget any more. Sam knew what I wanted and, like magic, it often appeared.
Staring at that photo again, I realise I have decisions to make. Tough ones.
I remove my contact lenses but then put on my glasses while I try to call Sam one last time. I don’t get it. One minute he is frantically calling me, the next his phone is switched off. It doesn’t go to voicemail. I can’t even begin to guess what game he’s playing at now. I climb into bed and lie awake, listening for unfamiliar sounds.
The note rests beneath my pillow, along with Sam’s dark secrets.
FIVE
Then
The Caribbean
Sometimes I imagine that if my life wasn’t real, if I were a character in a film . . . when should I have walked away? Would the moment be highlighted for the audience with dramatic music or a blatant clue? Did I miss something obvious? Or did I turn a blind eye? Did I focus too hard on the positives, sift away the negatives? It is hard to be objective.
The day after I met Sam, I was out walking on the upper deck, wearing the mermaid pendant. I loved being out at sea. I took hundreds of photos of the turquoise water as I watched the sun reflect off the waves. Everything looked brighter and shinier than usual. I had treated myself to some expensive sun cream from one of the gift shops and my skin smelled of papaya, coconut and shea. Apart from other cruise ships and yachts, there was ocean as far as I could see. I was cut off from the rest of the world; the rules didn’t apply. It was invigorating. I realised I didn’t want to return to real life. I wanted to stay here, in the fantasy one, with endless buffets and entertainment, where credit-card bills, housework and work commutes didn’t exist.
I spotted Sam standing against the railings. Leo in Titanic sprang to mind – minus the tragedy. The fluttering sensation in my stomach was something I hadn’t experienced in a long while. I had forgotten its thrill. I was summoning up the confidence to go over and say hello, when a woman with long, dark hair approached him. I recognised her from the casino the previous evening. She’d wanted the dealers – Sam, especially – to know that she was in for a fun time. She took risks and seemed to revel in the high energy of the casino crowds. I had dismissed her as an attention-seeker.
I stayed where I was and watched. Clearly, she was enthralled by Sam. She dropped something – a piece of paper – and as it blew across the deck, Sam caught it. His attention returned to the woman. She opened her bag and handed him something small, rectangular and gift-wrapped. He leant forward and said something in her ear. She laughed, touched his arm as she replied, then walked away, past me.
Sam slid whatever it was he had been given into his pocket and leant over the railings again, staring out to sea. He was being polite. That had to be all it was. She was merely an appreciative guest. With me, things were different – I felt sure. I gathered myself and walked over to stand alongside him, fixing my own gaze on the horizon. Waiting. For a moment, neither of us spoke. Then Sam broke the silence.
‘You were watching me.’
I felt my cheeks flame at having been so obvious. Still, I wasn’t above asking the question that was plaguing me. ‘What did she give you?’
He leant back and laughed. ‘You did not just ask me that!’
I couldn’t help laughing, too. ‘I can’t help it. I really want to know!’
He looked at me, then smiled that smile again. It felt as though I’d known him for much longer than twenty-four hours. He slid his forefinger and thumb along the chain he had given me the previous night until he reached the silver mermaid that rested in the middle of my chest. Nestling its smooth beauty in his palm, he smiled in admiration before letting go.
‘It’s perfect
on you.’
‘It was a lovely surprise, thank you. But are you trying to distract me?’
I was surprised to hear that my voice sounded normal because, for me, the rest of the world had faded away. Nothing felt normal at all. Sam had taken centre stage in my world.
He laughed. ‘Yes, and no. Truth is, I can’t think straight. You have that effect on me.’
‘I’d still like to know.’
As though it was any of my business! But jealousy made me push for an answer. Although I already knew that it was almost too late, that I was falling for him; he was unlike any other man I had ever met.
Whenever I repaint a picture in my mind, it is important to remind myself that I wasn’t a total pushover.
‘Some people like to reward good service individually,’ he said. ‘It means fewer tips, but I don’t like hurting feelings. It doesn’t happen all that often, so I figure, sometimes . . . what’s the harm? Like everything in life, it’s about balance.’
‘Fair enough. I shouldn’t have asked.’
He didn’t disagree.
Our next stop would be Aruba. Our last chance. I was due to disembark in Barbados a few days later and catch a flight to London. I didn’t want the trip to end.
‘We could go out in port,’ I blurted out. ‘If you have time off? If it’s allowed?’
I paused, feeling clumsy and stupid.
He answered quickly, saving my feelings. ‘Sure. I’d love to. Rules are just guidelines,’ he said. ‘It’s up to me what I’m allowed to do.’
‘It’s all about interpretation.’
He grinned. ‘Exactly. There’s this stunning beach – Eagle Beach. Miles of white sand.’
I opened my mouth to say that I knew, that I had been on a previous work trip, but I stopped myself. He looked so excited, so full of energy. Why burst his bubble? Was that my first mistake? To let him think that he was the first one to introduce me to the beautiful things in life?
But I’d seen it before.
I’d worked in Val d’Isère one ski season. A friend of a friend had recommended me as a chalet girl. It had opened my eyes to the disparity between my life and those of others. Sometimes, I used to play at living The Fairy Tale. When the guests were out, I would pretend that the chalet was mine.
In between guests, I’d invite other chalet staff over and we would use the Jacuzzi, pool and sauna, all taking turns to cook and clean up. Happy days. Once, we went out clubbing and I met a man who assumed that the place was mine. I didn’t correct him. All fairly innocent, fun stuff, even though it created a yearning deep within me.
There was one guest, Harry, who took it upon himself to teach me how to ski. Afterwards, we’d hang out together in the chalet while his friends were still on the slopes. As I made dinner for them all in the evenings, he and I would share knowing looks. After a few days, we gave up on the skiing. I’d stay in his room every night, and during the day we would swim, have lunch together in bed and share our dreams.
I’d assumed that it was only a matter of time before he’d tell his friends or they caught on. I imagined packing my bags at the end of the season and making a go of our relationship in England.
On the group’s last evening, they decided that they were going to eat out at the best restaurant in town. I imagined that this was the perfect opportunity, that Harry would suggest that I join them too. But as the time for them to leave approached, it dawned on me that that was not how things would be.
‘Be a sweetheart and make sure the nightcaps are ready when we return,’ said the girlfriend of one of his friends.
Harry gave me an apologetic shrug, leaving me alone, like Cinderella. I was done, then. Immediately, I packed my bags and ordered a cab. I left the dishwasher unloaded, their bedsheets not turned down, the fire unlit, the cushions un-plumped.
Lesson painfully learned.
So, no, Sam. You weren’t the first person to share these things with me.
Still, the two of us visited Eagle Beach. We took pictures of each other resting against the contorted bark of one of the widely photographed Fofoti trees which leant towards the green and blue sea. Sam arranged loungers for us where I lay and watched snorkellers, jet-skiers and swimmers dotting the clear water. We took a quick dip to cool off before we sipped a cold beer beneath the shade of gently swaying palm leaves. Even so, we were there for less than two hours before we gave up on any pretence that we wanted to do anything other than simply be together. We sneaked back to my cabin, all the more thrilling because it was very much ‘against the rules’.
‘I wish I wasn’t leaving tomorrow,’ I said, as we lay on my bed.
Sam pulled me close to him.
‘Come back to the Caribbean,’ he said. ‘I know someone who works for a specialist recruitment agency. You could get a job on a cruise ship. I’ll put in a good word.’
A fluttering in my stomach.
‘What would I do?’
‘There are loads of jobs. Just see what is available and apply for one. Florist, wardrobe supervisor, make-up artist, steward, PA, sales . . . The possibilities are endless.’
I laughed. ‘I am most definitely not a florist! Or a make-up artist, even.’
‘Fake it until you make it. Don’t you have friends who could vouch for you? Provide a reference? Loads of people learn on the job. It’s all about confidence.’ He stopped and gazed at me. ‘I believe in you. You can do anything you put your mind to.’
I laughed again. ‘I’ll do my very best.’
‘Do. I want to see you again. And I know you love it out at sea as much as I do. It gets in your blood.’
Sam had a shift at the casino and had to leave then. As I saw him out, Alistair emerged from his cabin. His expression was disapproving as the two of us watched Sam walk down the corridor.
‘I thought he had a girlfriend,’ he said.
‘No, he doesn’t,’ I replied quickly. ‘He’s been single for six months since his last girlfriend left him to go and work in the States on some billionaire’s private yacht.’
Sam told me how heartbroken he’d been.
I saw him hesitate. ‘OK. Maybe I got the wrong end of the stick. I thought I saw him with someone. But . . . maybe I was wrong.’
‘Maybe so,’ I said, shutting my door.
SIX
Now
It’s hard not to look back on that day, desperately scanning for the precise moment to freeze it, ready for dissection. I want to know when the overriding desire and greed enveloped me, forcing me to make a fatal decision. I want to rewrite history.
I sit at the kitchen table with a coffee and stare at the newspaper cutting to try to match the person I was in that image with the person I am now. It is like night and day. I want to go back in time and give ‘past me’ a good shake and a warning.
Don’t mess it up.
Since then, I have been humbled. Humiliated. I want to go back and do it all differently. Some things, though, I wouldn’t change. Certain people deserved all they got.
But recent events have awoken a new restlessness. I hate that Whoever It Is has this hold over me. The power to upend my peace of mind.
I check my phone.
Nothing.
The letterbox rattles, making me jump. Nothing out of the ordinary lies on the mat. Lewis has already left for work at his garage – the one he’s built from scratch ever since leaving school.
I scroll half-heartedly through work emails and sales offers.
The host from last night, Flora, has sent a thank-you message. I must have hidden my distraction well. I add her message to my website testimonials.
Highly recommended!
Wouldn’t trust anyone else.
A true professional.
When I read comments like these, despite a small sense of pride, I find it hard to relate. Maybe I am being too hard on myself. Times have been stressful.
I open more work requests. Someone wants me to organise her sister’s hen party – tastefully. Whatever that
means. Another woman is looking to celebrate her sixtieth. There is one from a personal assistant with an address for the meeting we have at midday regarding an important event in November. It is hard to feel one hundred per cent enthusiastic, given my current state of mind, yet I need all the clients I can get. The fees they’re prepared to pay for this job should be worthwhile because it involves some travel, according to their initial enquiry. From a quick online search, I see that the house has a tennis court, two ponds with fountains in the centre, an indoor pool, seven bedrooms, a cinema room and so on. My interest picks up.
I reply enthusiastically to everyone. I need to earn a living while I figure out my next move. Move out of Lewis’s flat. Change my number. Start again. These things aren’t impossible. I check out jobs, both here and abroad. I make another coffee.
Our bolthole in Devon was meant to be the first of our forever homes. A cliffside cottage with seaside views. It meant that we never had to leave the sea behind. Landscapers had transformed the garden into a mini reminder of our Caribbean adventures, with palm trees and exotic flowers. The plan was that we were going to buy another one in Spain, one on the Cote d’Azur, another in Bermuda. A long list of ambitious dreams and plans. Both of us were determined to live our lives to the utmost. So, even now, it feels freshly frustrating that one bad decision has led to such utter destruction. I check out how much notice our long-term tenants in Devon require to move out. Three months.
I reach for my phone and call Sam. His number is still disconnected. I plug in the USB again, make a fresh attempt at going through his files. My coffee grows cold and my back aches as I stare at the screen. It doesn’t amount to anything. I glance at the time. 10.47 a.m. Crap. I don’t have much time to make myself presentable for the meeting.
A rushed shower, and then I choose from my wardrobe. This will do – a pale blue, designer dress. Professional, bland, safe. Constant moving about has not been conducive to a larger wardrobe, so I ‘borrow’ items as often as I can. I pull it on carefully over my head and tuck away the label. I only wear borrowed items once before I return them. I’m very strict with myself when it comes to that rule. Wearing an item more than once would make it feel like a proper theft. This makes sense. If shops are going to charge a fortune for what is, essentially, a piece of material, then I choose not to feel guilty about my recycling habit.
The Ex-Husband Page 4