A Class Apart (3 page)

The waiter pulled out a chair for Ashley to sit down and she was surprised to see a bottle of champagne sitting in a bucket beside it. She looked at Julian and saw that he was smiling. It was his way of saying thank you, and well done. It was one of the things she had come to love most about him, his thoughtfulness, and sense of occasion.

The waiter popped the cork, and Julian waited for the glasses to be filled before looking into her eyes and saying, simply: “To you.”

Ashley swallowed the lump that was rising in her throat, surprised that she was so close to tears, and raised her own glass. “How about to us?”

He smiled and reached across the table to take her hand. She looked down at his fingers as they curled round hers, feeling the same thrill that always came over her when he touched her.

When she looked up she found that he was studying her face, and she gazed back at him. There was a long silence as she used her eyes to tell him what she was feeling, and his fingers tightened round hers. A basket of bread was thrust between them, and the moment was broken.

Julian leaned back in his chair. “So,” he said, “as I didn’t see the final portfolio, perhaps you’d like to fill me in on what it is you are intending for Newslink. I spoke to David Mackay this morning, by the way. He was very impressed. Said there was no way he could turn you down in the end.”

“Of course there wasn’t,” she said. “A lot of work went into that presentation.”

He grinned. “And don’t I know it.”

Ashley picked up her glass of champagne. “Well, whilst you were flying back and forth across the Atlantic and then living it up in Paris, we workers were continuing with the historical theme I first told you about. You know, taking each one of their magazines and newspapers, and weaving them into a dramatic sketch. Each publication will have a separate commercial, but the overall feel will be the same, giving the company an easily identifiable image, aimed also at illustrating the long history of the paper. You know what I mean, dramatise important events that they have covered over the past two hundred years, add a touch of comedy, with a good slogan at the end. Hilary came up with some, but as far as I know David Mackay is still making up his mind about them.”

“Sounds fine,” said Julian, sitting forward. He liked listening to her ideas, they were usually good, and sometimes brilliant. He was often surprised by her enthusiasm, but knew that the company, and its success, was almost as important to her as it was to him and his partner.

They were soon engrossed in a lengthy discussion of the Newslink account, batting around ideas, padding hem or discarding them, and more often than not making one another laugh. When the food arrived they relaxed again, and decided to drop the subject of work for the rest of the evening.

“You are very beautiful this evening, Ash,” he whispered after the waiter had cleared the table.

“Thank you,” she said. Then she laughed. “So you like the dress?”

“I do,” he answered, “but I like the person inside much more.”

Her heart began to beat a little faster. There had been a teasing note in his voice, but his eyes remained serious. Maybe now was the time to tell him. But there had been so many moments like this between them, when he had seemed to want to say more, but never had. She watched him as he poured the last of the champagne, trying to find the words she longed to say. But they wouldn’t come, and she wondered if she had the courage.

“Where did you get the tree?” he asked, leaning back in his chair.

She looked baffled for a moment, then realized that he was talking about the Christmas tree in her flat. “Actually, I bought it in Harrods,” she said, knowing it would amuse him.

“Harrods!” he cried, “You go to Harrods for your Christmas trees?”

“Tree,” she corrected. “And why not?”

“I don’t know,” he laughed. “Tell me, is it called a ‘top people’s tree?’”

“Naturally. A ‘top people’s tree’ for two top people.”

“Me and you?” he said.

“Yes, me and you.”

“Then who, might I ask, are all the presents for?”

“You.”

“Me! They were all for me?”

She nodded.

“But there were at least six there.”

She nodded again, smiling at the look on his face. “Well, cheer up,” she said, “you should be grateful. I’ve been rushing around all day trying to get things organised. I didn’t get away from the office until gone three.”

“You have bought me six presents?”

“Seven actually.”

“But why?”

“Because I wanted to.”

“But, Ashley, why?”

“Well, aren’t you just a typical man,” she said, feigning exasperation. “Can’t accept a gift without wanting to know why.”

“But so many?”

“I couldn’t make up my mind.”

Julian grinned. “Well, aren’t you just a typical woman.”

“Actually,” she paused while the waiter poured their coffee, “I bought them, I suppose, because I wanted to think of us being together on Christmas Day. You know, opening our gifts together.”

It was very quick, but she didn’t miss the cloud that momentarily dropped over his eyes. Then he broke into a smile again. “That sounds wonderful,” he said.

She felt suddenly shy, and desperately wanted him to mean it. “Do you really think so?”

“Yes,” he answered. “Yes, really I do.”

She started to laugh, a dawning euphoria making her dizzy. “Do you know what else I thought? I thought you might wake me on Christmas morning with bucks fizz and smoked salmon, isn’t that the way you said you liked Christmas? We could have it in bed, and then we could open our presents before you cook lunch.”

“Me cook lunch?”

“Yes, you. The liberated man. You have equality now, don’t forget.”

“Oh yes. I must admit it does slip my mind from time to time. Anyway, go on.” He was enjoying the game, and loved the way her dark eyes were shining.

“Well, I thought we could invite one another to lunch, you know, to make up the party, and have lots to eat and drink, then go back to bed in the afternoon to sleep it off, before we go visiting in the evening.”

“I like it so far, but tell me more about the afternoon,” he said. “You know, the bit before we go visiting.”

She looked thoughtful for a moment. “Well, I haven’t quite decided what we will dream about yet. If that’s what you were meaning?”

“No, I want to know what I’m going to do before I go to sleep.”

“Oh, you mean you’re offering to do the washing up?”

He gave a shout of laughter. “You’re adorable.”

There was a short silence. “I’m serious,” she said. “We could have a wonderful Christmas together, you know.”

“Yes, we could.”

She looked into his eyes waiting for him to go on, but he signalled for the waiter to bring the bill. She looked at her watch. “It’s early.”

His eyes were dancing. “I know, but I thought we might go home and rehearse what comes between the washing up and the dreams, you know, ready for Christmas Day.”

As they walked from the restaurant, his arm about her shoulders, the words were buzzing around in her head. I love you, I love you, I love you. But not now, she would wait until they were home, sitting beside their “top people’s tree” and then she would tell him. And he would take her in his arms, and tell her how long he had been waiting for her to say those words.

Driving back in the car they held hands, but didn’t speak. From time to time Julian turned to look at her, but his face was inscrutable. He was thinking about the picture she had painted of the fantasy Christmas, and how much he wished it could come true. But it had been a game, nothing more than a game, they both knew that it could never be. He was grateful to her for never having told him how she felt about him. It was a silent agreement between them that they shouldn’t speak of their feelings, and not once had she broken the rules. For that, but not for that alone, he loved her. It would make it easier in the end. It had always been Blanche, and though he didn’t care for Blanche in the way that he cared for Ashley, he did love his fiancée, and he would marry her. In the end, his need for success would dictate his life. And with Blanche it would all be possible.

The lights on the tree were still burning as they walked through the door, and while Ashley went to make some coffee Julian poured them a nightcap.

When she came into the room, he was standing beside the tree in the colourful semi-darkness, his hands in his pockets, staring thoughtfully down at the beautifully wrapped gifts. Quietly she put the tray on the table and went to join him. She would tell him now. The time felt right. She would make the fantasy Christmas a reality.

He smiled down at her and slipped his arm round her shoulders. Why did she have to look so beautiful tonight? But then, to him, she looked beautiful every night. It would have been no easier, no matter when he decided to tell her.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” she whispered, fiddling with a light on the tree.

“I don’t know,” he said.

“I was thinking how nice it would be if we really could spend Christmas together.”

“Mmmm,” he said, and tightened his hold on her. “But it’s all a dream, only a dream.”

“But it needn’t be.” Her voice was so soft he could hardly hear her.

She turned in his arms to face him. “I said it needn’t be.” He looked down at her, his hands resting on her shoulders. “Don’t you understand, Julian? Don’t you know what I’m trying to say?”

For a fleeting moment his eyes darkened in anger but he continued to look at her, knowing and unable to stop her.

“I love you, Julian,” she whispered, “I love you.”

He pulled her into his arms and crushed her against him. Dear God, why, oh why was she doing this to herself? To them both?

She could feel his heart beating, hear him breathing, and she waited for him to speak.

As the silence lengthened and still he didn’t answer, she pulled away.

‘He looked down at the tree again, hating himself for what he was doing to her.

Ashley sat down on the settee. She was surprised to find that, for the moment, she was calm. Staring into the fire, she realised that he must have built it up while she was making the coffee. Coffee! It was still standing on the table, where she had put it. The brandy was beside it, untouched. Perhaps by reaching out for these tokens, she could regain her dream.

“You haven’t drunk your brandy.”

“Ashley . . .”

They spoke at the same time.

He came to sit beside her and tried to take her hand, but she reached out for the coffee and began to pour.

“Black or white?” she said.

“Black, please.”

“Yes, of course.”

She handed him a cup, and turned back to pick up a brandy. Julian caught her hand and, turning her to face him, put his coffee back on the table. She tried to turn away.

“Ashley, please, listen to me.”

“Don’t you want your coffee?”

“Ash, darling, please. Look at me.”

She bowed her head. “I can’t.”

He pulled her into his arms. “Darling. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. What can I say?” He felt her stiffen. “I thought you knew. I thought you had always accepted that one day it would be . . .” he stopped.

“Over? Is that what you were going to say?” There was no trace of bitterness in her voice, only sadness. “Of course I did.” She was struggling to hold back the tears. “And, Julian, I’m sorry for what I said, I take it all back. Please, forget it.”

“I never meant to hurt you, Ash.”

“I know you didn’t.”

Suddenly she could feel the panic beginning to bite. It had come from nowhere, shouting to her, telling her that this was the end. They had had their last dinner. Never again would she see him smile into her eyes in that way that had seemed to tell her he loved her. No more days together, no more nights, no more laughter. It was over. She had lost him, but then, in truth, had she ever really had him? She felt his hand stroking her hair, and for one terrifying moment she thought she was going to beg him to stay.

“I’ve been a fool,” she said. “It’s my fault. You never made any promises, you never said you would leave Blanche. But in my naivete I wanted to believe that you would.”

“No, it’s my fault. I should never have let things get this far.”

“No, please don’t say that. It means you regret that it ever happened.”

“To see you so hurt, I do regret it.”

She sat up straight, still not looking at him, and tried to laugh. “Oh, but I’ll survive,” she said, hoping by her words to give herself strength.

“Of course you will,” he said. “Soon you will meet someone. Someone who is . . . well, right for you.”

A flash of anger sparked in her eyes. “Someone Jewish, is that what you mean?”

“No, that’s not what I meant. I’m sorry.” He wanted to tell her how much it hurt him to think of her with another man, any man.

She turned away from him, trying to dose herself from his presence. Julian knew that by staying he was only prolonging the pain, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave. The moment he walked through that door it would be the end, he could never come back.

His hand was resting on her back, and he felt her shoulders begin to shake. She was crying. Pulling her round into his arms, he tried to hold back his own tears. God knows, he had never felt like this before. It was as if his insides were being crushed. He held her for a long time, and she cried into his shoulder, trying to pour out the pain of losing him. He stroked her hair, and kissed the top of her head, cursing the fate that had led them to this.

Finally she looked up, and this time she looked into his face. He looked back at her, tear-stained and dishevelled, and knew that he had never loved her more.

“Kiss me, Julian,” she whispered.

As he covered her mouth with his, feeling her lips begin to tremble, he knew that it would be the easiest thing in the world to throw everything to the wind and tell her how he felt. To forget the rest of his life, and stay with her. But his plans had been made, and he must see them through.