by Terry Tyler
“You don’t have to work for him, or Isabella. You can find something else,” I said.
He laughed. “What, at my age? I’m fifty-four in November. Men of fifty-four don’t swan into prime executive positions every day of the week, lovey.” At last, an endearment, except that it wasn’t. It was a mockery of the suggestion I’d made. “I made a fuck up of my own business, I’m unable to work with my current boss, I’m a smoker, which is seen as a health risk in someone of my age; I’m not exactly a catch. I could be looking for the right position for months, years, every day lowering my expectations just a little bit more. Even if I found something, I’m not the sort of man who can work for other people unless they let me do my own thing. I’d get depressed, and I’d make you unhappy, and you’d see me as a failure, eventually—it would ruin what we’ve got.”
I started to cry. “I’d never look on you as a failure. I love you. I’ll help you through it, we’ll get through it together, it’s only a fucking job—”
I surprised myself by meaning the last bit, too.
The room was almost silent for a long, long minute, with only the sound of my sobs.
At last, at last, he got out of his chair and led me over to the couch by the window. He took my hands. “Sweetheart. Look—we’ll have to be more patient, now, that’s all. It might take me a few more years, but I’ll just have to move on to Plan B, when I know what that is, and we’ll start all over again, but we will be together, one day, I promise you.”
“Yeah, one day,” I echoed. I was in floods of tears, now, but for once immaculate Raine Grey didn’t care that her mascara was running down her face. “We can be together now,” I said. “All we have to do is walk out of that door. Things like fabulous houses and everyone thinking you’re so important, and money and cars and holidays—they’re just things, they don’t matter.”
But the look on his face showed me that they did matter, to him.
“We need money. You’re young, with all your life in front of you, you don’t understand. You can’t understand; it’s not your fault. Look, I’ll be sixty in six years, I smoke at least twenty tabs a day, I haven’t played a game of squash since I met you; what if I get ill and can’t work for a while? Apart from that, I can’t come to you with nothing, and no plans.”
“You’d be coming to me as the man I love, that’s all.”
“I can’t. Not like this. Come on, we can just carry on the same as we have been, and I’ll think of another way to get out of it with a smile on my face so that we can have the life we both want, and—”
“No,” I said. “No. The life I want is just to be with you, I don’t care how or where. If you loved me as much as I love you—”
“I do, you know I do.”
“If you loved me as much as I love you,” I went on, “you’d say to Isabella, do your worst. You’d see this as an opportunity for a fresh start, with me. I’d live with you in my little flat with nothing—aren’t we happy when we’re there? You always say you’re happier there than you are anywhere else in the world.” My nose was all blocked up; I could hardly get the words out. I sniffed; it was disgustingly noisy, but I didn’t care. “One year, you said, in March. That was four months ago. I can’t carry on indefinitely, being hidden away, not taking great job opportunities because I can’t bear to be parted from you, never being able to spend Christmas and holidays and Sundays with you, always waiting until the time is right. Because it never will be, will it? By the time you’ve started again and found another way to get all the things that are so important to you, I’ll have spent my twenties waiting, and then you and Jean will be nearly sixty and you’ll feel guilty about leaving her all alone, or one of your kids will produce your first grandchild, and—” The hell of the situation hit me hard then, and I wailed, dragging the back of my hand across my wet, mascara-smudged cheeks, not caring about being cool, or not putting pressure on him. It was too late for that.
“You’ll always be the one I love, that won’t change, and we’ll find a way—”
“There is a way. You just pick up those boxes, or leave them behind, what the hell, and come with me, now.”
“I can’t, it won’t work like that.”
“It will. How it won’t work is if we linger on for years and years, because the urgency will go; love doesn’t stay like it is for us now, all new and magic and wonderful and non-stop passion, it calms down into something else, but if we aren’t building a life together it doesn’t get a chance to.” I breathed long and deep to calm myself. “If it doesn’t get to move from mad intense affair to the next stage of just loving each other in a proper relationship, there’ll come a time when you aren’t quite so desperate to get away to see me for an hour on a Sunday afternoon, because you know I’ll be waiting for you the next night, anyway, and then you’ll wonder if you really want to disrupt your luxurious life, just to be with me full time.” I didn’t know I knew all that until I said it, but when I heard the words I knew they were true.
“I’ll never feel any way about you other than how I do now,” he said. “I’ll work out a way we can have holidays together, proper time—”
“I’ll still have to be hidden away, though, won’t I? I want to walk down the road holding hands with you, with you proud to be with me, I want to go to sleep and wake up with you, every day, not just when you’ve managed to lie to your wife. I can’t do it, not long term.” Big, big deep breath. “You come with me, now, or it’s over.”
I had to say that, didn’t I? What my mum said about me flashed into my mind: me and my intuition. For I felt sure that what I’d described was what would happen.
Oh, he pleaded with me, and I cried. We went back and forth, over and over the same ground. I pleaded with him, and he said he couldn’t live without me, and I said, well don’t then, but he obviously could, because when I left he didn’t come with me.
He chose to stay with his wife.
That’s the trouble with having an affair with a married man, you see. Just because you fulfil all their romantic and sexual requirements you think you have most of them, but really you have so little. However much he loves you, you don’t have the home, the history, the children, the shared friends, the family and, in Jim’s case, the money and status.
He phoned me that night, drunk. He didn’t say much, he just made sounds that I knew were strangled sobs, and told me he loved me, over and over. I was drunk too, very, or I don’t think I’d have been able to say what I did. I told him that unless he was phoning to tell me that he’d left Jean, I never wanted to hear from him again. Then I hung up on him.
It was the only thing I could do. Even though after I’d done so I curled up on the floor clutching my stomach and howling as though someone had kicked me.
Something else I understood in the dark, miserable, early hours of the next morning was that my mother was right about more than my intuition. The desire for all that stuff, it doesn’t make you happy. It destroys the soul; she was right. Mum and Dad were as weird as hell and had bugger all, but they had each other, and us, and were content in their lives, together. All I needed to be happy was Jim, and all that he had chosen over me wouldn’t fill the gap for him. I knew it wouldn’t. I felt a sudden urge to go home and see my mum, fall into her big, patchouli-smelling, patchwork bosom and cry my heart out.
I cried my heart out a lot. I ached and despaired and couldn’t eat. Every day I had to stop myself phoning him. I talked to Dana about it, too, over far too much wine on far too many evenings.
“Was it just sex, really, d’you think?” she asked, once.
“No,” I said, “it was love, it truly was. But he thought other things were more important.” I had a lightning flash of understanding, then. He was right, it wouldn’t have worked. If Jim had come to me with nothing he would have seen himself as a failure. It would have poisoned everything.
I suppose he’ll carry on being subsidised by his father-in-law, having amazing holidays, flitting between his wonderful houses, an
d strutting around being Big Jim Dudley. I expect one day he might have another affair in an effort to recapture what we had. Or maybe I’m the last, and he’ll know his mistake when he wakes up in the middle of the night wanting me, and he’ll understand the emptiness of marrying for reasons other than love. Maybe his destiny is never again to find such happiness; well, that’s karma for you, I suppose. And tough shit.
Me, when I stop hurting so much I shall pick myself up, go out and get the great life I promised myself, in whatever form it may take, but I’ll know what’s really important now, too. It’s love and people that make you happy, not things.
The nine days I worked for Lanchester Estates wrecked my confidence, made a huge dent in my career path, and broke my heart. But tomorrow is another day.
PART TWO
The Eldest Daughter
Chapter Five
Hannah
Thursday August 19th, 2010
“Oh, it was wonderful, you should have seen their faces! I tell you, they were two of the best moments of my life!”
Isabella poured out the champagne into four glasses: hers, mine, Erin’s, and Jane Dormer’s. Then, still standing, she beamed at each of us in turn. “Look, I know it’ll take more than a business triumph to help us cope with losing Jaz, but maybe we can start to look forward, just a little bit? Today, I cut the rot out of our dad’s company, I brought Lanchester Estates back into the family. Never again will an outsider own our shares, and never again will a position of such power be held by someone like Jim Dudley.”
She practically spat his name out.
“To Isabella!” said Jane, raising her glass high, and Erin and I echoed her movements and words accordingly, though I suspected Erin wasn’t overly happy about what had happened; I hadn’t had a chance to talk to her in private. I’d been summoned by a cock-a-hoop Isabella just an hour before.
Only the previous night she’d been in a completely different frame of mind, raging with venom towards the man who was trying to take over her company. How dare he create new positions, new departments, without consulting her? She was determined to humiliate him as much as possible in his demotion. Then I inadvertently gave her all the ammunition she needed, and Erin echoed it. I did so simply because I thought she ought to be aware of the relationship between two key members of staff; I had nothing against Mr Dudley or his girlfriend, but my loyalty was to my girls.
As soon as I said the words I wished I hadn’t. The look on Isabella’s face told me the true story. I was amazed I hadn’t spotted it before.
She didn’t hate Jim Dudley at all. When I told her about his full-on passionate embrace with the immaculate PR girl, she was stricken with jealousy. Just for a moment, it showed all over her face.
“That flibbertigibbet? He’s screwing her?”
“Well, I imagine so,” I said, a tad helplessly. “It wasn’t the sort of kiss you give someone who’s just a friend.”
“What on earth does he see in her?”
That was what confirmed my suspicions; anyone else would have asked what a delectable young woman like Raine saw in a rather battered looking middle-aged man, not the other way round.
I just shrugged my shoulders.
Her eyes narrowed, and she composed herself. “Well, that explains everything, anyway,” she said, eventually. “Thank you, Hannah, very much indeed.” She bit her lip, and smiled to herself. “Thank you!”
Then Erin chimed in.
“Oh yeah, I know all about that,” she’d said, almost idly. We’d been drinking wine since Isabella got in; it was around ten o’clock and Erin had emptied the best part of a bottle on her own, which I’m guessing was the cause of her indiscretion. “I wouldn’t have said anything, but the cat’s out of the bag now, isn’t it? Robert told me his dad took Raine over to Calais before Christmas, giving it a load of chat about her doing PR for them, but he said it was pretty obvious they had a thing going on because they didn’t stop grinning at each other for three days. Then he went up to Jim’s room to ask him something, first thing in the morning, and there was no answer.” She giggled, like a schoolgirl, lolling across the kitchen table, twirling the stem of her glass round between her thumb and forefinger. “So he kind of sussed out that he was probably in Raine’s room, went along there, put his ear to the door and heard them at it!” She burst out laughing. “Poor Robert! I mean, gross, or what! Your parents on the job—waaah!”
Isabella went scarlet. Even her neck flared up, red and patchy. “It’s a long-term affair, then? It’s serious? Why did he not tell Jean, immediately?”
Erin shrugged. “Oh, you know Robert and Jim, they’re more like best buddies than father and son. He said his mum’s having a God-awful time with the menopause and leaps down everyone’s throats every five minutes—probably didn’t dare! He thought it might just fizzle out, but it didn’t.”
Another day Isabella might have taken the opportunity to make snide remarks about Erin’s own morals, but she just sat there, deep in thought for a while, then announced that she was leaving. After she’d gone, Erin turned to me. “I looked round for Jaz, just then,” she said, so sadly. “He would have thought it was dead funny about J.Dud and the shagging noises, wouldn’t he?”
So Isabella went into work the next day and did her worst, disposing of Jim Dudley and his girlfriend in one fell swoop. I’d never seen Izzy so jubilant, and I could understand why she felt the occasion merited champagne, though I felt dreadfully guilty. Wherever my loyalties lay, I’d unwittingly caused a lot of trouble for two people I scarcely knew and had never done me any harm.
I try not to judge people who have extramarital affairs, because you never know what a marriage is like from the inside.
I thought of that nice, smart, pretty girl outside Sainsbury’s, and I hoped she wasn’t too terribly unhappy.
Hell hath no fury, and all that. As far as I knew, Jim Dudley had never shown any interest in Isabella, for which he was being punished; the company aside, I was sure spite had played a part. And now she was knocking back the fizz in a way I’d never seen her do before.
“Tomorrow is Day One,” she said, beaming round at us. “I can’t believe it, I’ve been fighting that man since Dad died. God, how he had the nerve to sneak his girlfriend in, promising her a fantastic salary and her own department!” She shook her head in theatrical disbelief. “Stupid little idiot! As if! She probably thought she’d landed right on her feet; shades of Keira Howard. Typical gold-digger.”
“I thought she seemed nice,” Erin said, quietly. “Not that type at all. Robert liked her, too.”
“Whatever,” said Isabella, dismissing Raine Grey with a wave of her hand. “Anyway, Jim knew his head would roll if I breathed a word of it to Jean; I imagine he’s scuttled back off to wifey and sent his PR tart packing.”
Pop! Another champagne bottle was opened, and Jane did the honours.
“What about Robert?” Erin asked. “You’re not going to find a way to get rid of him too, are you?”
Isabella clearly didn’t like being reminded of him. “Oh, I’ll get him back from France. Actually, his first task under the new regime can be to dispose of that wretched hotel and the land that his father bought. Then—I don’t know. Oh, yes, I do. He’s pretty good at schmoozing, isn’t he? Men like him always are! Well, the new Norwich premises for Lanchester Commercial will be ready in a month or so; I can stick him in charge over there. Keep him out of the way.”
“Perhaps he won’t want to go,” Erin said. “Now Jim’s gone, he might leave.”
“I don’t think so,” said Isabella. “The position’s perfect for him. Just because I loathe his papa, it doesn’t mean I have anything against him. And isn’t he marrying that girl, the one with the father who owns a stack of land out that way? Might be useful for us, too.”
“Clever!” said Jane Dormer.
Isabella looked pleased. “Well, I did learn a few things from Dad!”
It was really Isabella’s night; she overflowed with vic
torious satisfaction. I’d rarely seen her so buoyed up. She even let Parker leap up onto her lap, and fed him some of the snacks that Pat had so thoughtfully provided for us. Usually she declared herself ‘not a dog person’.
“I shall be making a lot of changes over the coming weeks,” she said. “Jane will remain as my secretary, obviously; I’m putting Will in as overall Head of Operations, and when Tony Risley goes at the end of October, I’m thinking of promoting Ruth Rochester to head of Finance, what do you think? I want Cecilia Williams to take over Legal; Steve Gardiner won’t like it but that’s tough; oh, but I haven’t made all my final decisions yet!” She laughed. “Bloody hell, it’s like being God!”
“I like your idea of having women in prime positions, for a change,” said Jane, and they clinked glasses.
“Isn’t that a bit sexist?” Erin said. “Surely you should choose the person who’s right for the job, rather than selecting according to gender.”
I smiled. Isabella ignored her, of course. “I’ve organised a big do for the entire staff, for Thursday night next week,” she went on. “The memos will go out tomorrow; it’s going to be held in the function room at The Huntsman, and all the estate agency staff, all the site managers, everyone will be invited. I want to let the world know that it’s a new era for Lanchester Estates! There will be speeches and announcements, but it’ll be fun, too; Jane and Susan Clarence are sorting out the catering. But—”
She paused, and her face took on a more serious look as she took a deep breath. “But,” she went on, “it’s going to be the last big expense for a long time. The responsibility for the company begun by our great grandfather is now mine. One day, I’ll be passing it on to my own children. I’m going to take a leaf out of Granddad Jasper’s book, and look after the pennies.”
Erin drained her glass. “So, what you’re saying is, I can’t put my Seychelles holiday down as a business expense?”