A Kept Woman (13 page)

She squirmed with shame on the sofa as she thought of her divorce. God, what a stigma! A girl her age actually cast aside! It was no comfort to think that Hector had

been a faggot. If she had somehow been smarter and let him know, subtly, that both her eyes were blind, he could have had the gardener, the pool-man and the chef and she would never have batted an eyelid. It wasn’t so different to what Natasha was doing. Felicity swung her skinny legs and mentally chastised herself. What a rookie .error, to try to persuade Hector that his position demanded he be straight, that he could shut his eyes and just do her instead. She’d made him uncomfortable. As Diana was most likely making Ernie uncomfortable right now.

Of course, I was married for a good five years. And silly little Miss Perfect has only been wed six months, Felicity triumphed, taking a spiteful sip of her Martini. What a terribly amusing thing it was to see the beautifully put together Miss Limey with that aggravaingly classy accent take such a swift tumble from grace, and then be stupid enough to broadcast it to the two biggest gossips in town! They would be repeating this story at Bliss facial spa and Oribe’s salon on Fifth and, in fact, all over. New York. She made a mental bet with herself on how long it would take to get back to Ernie that his wife had been blabbing? Not long, not long at all. And then, how he would prize discretion, and want to silence the gossips.

Felicity made a mental note to find out all she could about Ernie Foxton. Judging from his apartment, he was doing wonderfully well. And if she .played her cards right, he could soon be back on the market. Just as she was herself.

Diana settled into the high-backed, carved oak chair opposite Ernie’s. She’d had a little love table installed at one end of the bedroom for their most intimate dinners. His favourite food, champagne, flowers, candles. It would be special for a lot of men, but she did this for

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Ernie on a regular basis. A pleasant home was her end of

the bargain. Why couldn’t he keep his?

‘How was your day today, darling?’

Now that the moment was here, she was nervous. She had no idea how to handle it.

‘Not too bad. Lots of meetings. Always the same.’ Ernie’s accent was starting to grate on her. ‘Nothing you’d be interested in. Have a good time here?’

‘I might be interested in your work if you’d tell me about it,’ Diana said sweetly.

He looked surprised. ‘I doubt it. You’ve never shown any interest in anything without a label on the back, have you?’

‘I could be. I spent some time at Vogue before We got married.’.

Ernie speared his lamb and shook the piece at her, smirking. ‘Yeah, but that was hardly a real job. You were just mucking about waiting for me to pop the question. And I didn’t mind. What were you going to say, that we

now had two million and twelve thousand a year?’ He giggled in his high-pitched way.

‘It’s true; I have been a bit of a butterfly,’ Diana admitted, stifling her annoyance. She tossed back her silky hair to show it off to its bestadvantage in the candlelight, but Ernie only seemed interested in the cranberry relish. ‘But I think the working life has a lot to offer a woman.’

‘Like a salary. Lucky for you, you don’t need one.’ ‘I think it’s important to be independent,’ Diana said firmly. ‘I’ve actually gone out looking for a job. And I’ve found one. In publishing.’

That got him. Ernie lowered his knife and fork theatrically and stared at her. ‘In publishing? But you’ve got no experience. What are you doing? Who for?’

‘I’m going to be assisting one of your colleagues. Michael Cicero at Green Eggs.’

Ernie half choked. ‘You what?’

‘I’m going to be working for Mr Cicero,’ Diana said, sliding one long, curvy leg over the other and shaking her shoulders slightly so that her dress moved around the full ripeness of her breasts.

Ernie looked at the sensual movement of his wife, but she did nothing for him. If Diana could get a little kinky, get a riding crop and paddle his buttocks mercilessly the way Mira had done this morning, maybe he’d have some desire for her again. But Mira had squeezed out the last drop of juice from him, and he didn’t think he could get it up for Diana with a crane. Now she wanted to work for that little asshole Cicero, huh? Well, he, Ernie, wanted a spy in that office. Besides, it would mean she had less time to wonder where he was at night.

‘If you want to, babe, I think that’d be a great idea.’

Diana preened. ‘I’m sure I’d be able to understand your business more once I get the hang of it.’

‘Get the hang of it? You’ll quit in a week.’

‘Why would you say that? Of course I won’t quit. I’ll be gbod at it. I’m sure I’ll be indispensable.’

‘Rumour has it Mike Cicero’s a slave driver.’

Don’t talk to me about rumours, Diana thought. She lifted her glass. ‘I can handle it. Let’s have a toast. To business.’

‘To business,’ Ernie repeated dutifully, wondering what had got into his meek little wife.

He took some paperwork into his den as soon as Consuela started to clear away the dishes. If he could stay up late enough Diana would fall asleep and he wouldn’t be expected to perform like a trained monkey. I’m stressed, Ernie whined to himself. He shut the heavy oak door behind him and gleefully booted up his computer so he could log on to the Internet. He loved the Net, it was an isolating little cyber-world that kept him well away

from his flesh and blood woman. So far Diana had never disturbed him in here. Ernie told himself smugly that ,she knew better.

He had just clicked his mouse on to his favourite online trading site when there was the unmistakable squeak of the door. Without glancing round, Ernie told Consuela he wouldn’t be needing anything else and she could retire.

‘It’s not Consuela. It’s me.’

Ernie twisted around in his revolving chair. Diana stood in the doorway, the light from their soft sconces filtering through her dress, outlining the silhouette of her. She was built a lot like that film star, Catherine Zeta Jones. He so much preferred Mira’s hard, tarty, boyish little body,

‘I got some work to do, OK, babes?’

‘Not rally.’ Diana took a deep breath and glanced out of their huge, six-foot windows looking downtown through the canyons of glass and concrete. Manhattan was Ernie’s gift to her, and it was glittering in the night like a web of jewels. ‘I think we need to talk, darling.’

‘We just did talk,’ Ernie said, a nasty squirming feeling in the pit of his stomach. Fuck. Was she on to him? It felt just like when his Ma used to scold him, back at school, in front of the other kids. He began to feel the first stirrings of resentment..

‘Who were you talking to so early the other morning? I heard you on the phone. You told the girl on the other end not to speak so loudly in ease you woke your wife.’

‘How do you know it was a girl? R wasn’t a girl. It was Peter Davits, he’s my head of business affairs. He needed an early morning meeting and I wanted to make sure I didn’t disturb you.’

Diana relaxed and Ernie breathed out. Well. It was easier than he’d expected to wriggle out. ‘Look at you, you’re all jealous. Don’t you know I got the best wife in

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New York? You know I need to work all the hours God sends, sweetheart. To get nice things for you. Same as it always was. All right?’

‘All right,’ Diana said, smiling at him uncertainly.

‘I really need to finish up in here. Why don’t you go get some rest and I’ll be in as soon as I can. You’ve got a big day tomorrow. New job.’ Ernie tried to finish that last sentence with a straight face.

‘You’re right.’ Diana padded across the study in her delicate Moroccan slippers, embroidered in golden thread, that sparkled as she moved. She kissed him, and there was the scent of baby powder on her skin. Very clean, very wholesome, very spoiled. Ernie decided he’d have to find some way of letting her know what the score was. He hardly asked much of her. Looking the” other way, it was as old as time, wasn’t it? What wife could do less?

Ernie clasped her to him and dramatically breathed in, sniffing the air. ‘Wow, you smell great, honey. Why don’t you go to Tiffany’s tomorrow and get yourself a little sonlething to celebrate your new job?’

‘Thanks. I will. Don’t be too long,’ Diana said, pressing his shoulders and gliding off.

Ernie waited until he heard the bedroom door shut, then picked up his cell phone and dialled Mira’s number from memory. If he was lucky, his Mistress would be home, and maybe order him to another early morning rendezvous tomorrow.

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The alarm buzzed in the darkness, and for a few seconds Diana didn’t recognise the sound. She lay sprawled in her silk sheets, trying to work out, half conscious, why that horrible noise wouldn’t stop.

Ernie’s bare foot pushed at her, and with a start, Diana sat up. Groggily she hit the button to turn the wretched thing off. I/a the darkness of early morning, the luminous dials on the clock silently told her it was 5.5o a.m. The bedroom was chilly, and laer sheets and pillows seemed blissfully, temptingly soft and warm. For a second she hesitated, but only for a second. Diana .glanced back at her husband, snoring in the sheets, and thought of Mira Chen’s nasty little smile. She, Diana Foxton, was not the type to give up so easily. She jumped out of bed and staggered into the shower.

They had separate bathrooms, because Diana couldn’t stand to have Enie watching her toilette. A woman must cultivate an air of mystery. When she needed to floss, or pluck her eyebrows, he didn’t need to watch, did he? She loved to appear perfectly groomed and pulled-together at all times. She turned the heavy brass shower knobs to her pre-programmed temperature setting and clicked the water pressure to power. Time to wake up. The jets, steaming and brutal, hissed into action, and Diana slid aside the frosted glass doors and stepped in.

Ah! Normally she adored her black marble, roomy shower, with its inlaid gold and silver stars that made you feel as though you were washing yourself in the night

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sky, but today the water was invigorating and harsh. Her shoulders and back were pummelled into wakefulness, and little rivulets gushed down over her forehead and across her nose and mouth. Her sleepiness evaporated, and Diana congratulated herself on her willpower as she reached for the shampoo. True, they were really not far from the office here, and she had a chauffeur on twenty four-hour call, so she wouldn’t have to wait for a taxi. But I left enough time to dress and make up, Diana thought. Pleasant visions of herself gliding beautifully into Michael Cicero’s office, immaculately presented, drove her on. That bastard had more or less offered her the job as a joke. He didn’t expect to see her on time, let alone put together. But I’ll show him, Diana thought, excitedly.

She took her time in her gilt and marble sanctuary. Hair was easy - she always went for a glossy, well conditioned, natural look. Make-up was somewhat more difficult. At Vogue, of course, there was the option to be fashionable. In a regular office, it probably wouldn’t do to Ie daring. Languidly, Diana settled on a pretty, neutral look, a sheer mousse foundation, soft berry lips, nothing but mascara on the eyes with a touch of concealer to mask the terrible sleep deprivation. The bathroom winm dow looked out past her terrace to Central Park, and as dawn hit the New York skyline, revealing a few ant-like figures making their morning circular rounds past the lake, Diana rubbed La Prairie moisturiser into her shapely calves and told herself being a working woman wasn’t at all bad.

She buzzed the kitchen and told Paula, the cook, to have some vanilla coffee perking and warm her up a croissant. All this fashion was giving her an appetite. She finished blow-drying her hair, smoothed it with a touch of shiner, and selected the belted navy shirtdress that was the most appropriate thing for work that she had in her

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wardrobe. Clothes shopping would need to be after hours or at the weekend. Maybe she’d pick up a nice burgu,ndy leather briefcase from Coach while she was at it.

Finally, she was ready. She spritzed herself with Clinique’s Aromatics Elixir, clip-clipped as quietly as she could on her high blue strappy Manolos out of the bedroom, and went downstairs to bid Paula good morning and pick at her breakfast. Freshly squeezed juice, fragrant coffee and a small croissant, just to settle her stomach. After Paula had left the room, Diana, delicately sipping from her cup, regarded her reflection with the utmost approval. Everything worked magnificently together. In fact, she looked, very like Grace Kelly.

Yes, Diana told herself. Being a working woman would be fun, fun, fun!

Michael’awoke at quarter past seven in the way he liked best, which was to say Iris’s lips were wrapped around his cock, and her tongue was flickering over the head of it. To be honest it was a little late for him to be awake; a hangover from busting this chick up for hours the night before, he guessed. But Iris’s tongue was flickering over his penis in that soft, feather-light, sexy way she had, darting over the tiny ridge of skin that he loved a girl’s lips on so much, then sliding her mouth down the whole length of him. Yeah, now he was awake. His fingers tightened in her hair. Oh, man, was she ever good at this. A faint question as to how exactly she had gotten so good at it danced in the back of-his mind, but it was a distracting thought, and he tried to’squash it. She was a smartly dressed, clever enough chick, with a pretty face and a body he’d have liked to add twenty pounds to, but it wasn’t all that bad. She was a bit earnest, but she was a nice girl. He thought so. Well, sure, she qualified. Very few girls resisted Michael’s full court press for any length of time; normally he measured it in hours, not dates. So

Michael felt hopeful about this one. Though he never articulated the thought to himself, he respected the situation of the family, and one day, maybe, just maybe, he’d like to be married. There were a hundred girls around in New York he could fuck - married girls, engaged girls, girls who propositioned you right to your face - a huge turn-off- girls dating other guys, and just the common or garden variety of girl who would agree to every nasty little thing you suggested right away, before she even knew your surname. He’d fucked some of these girls. It used to be all of these girls. When he was a bit younger, Michael had carried a full condom pack in his hip pocket at all times. But now, the girls just looked more tired, less appealing. When he woke up with one, it felt cheap, maybe a little dirty. Like when you ate’a full box of Crackerjack out at a ball game and then felt sick later. Plus, there was the ever more annoying problem of how to get them out of the bed, the apartment, and his life. He’d even stopped giving out his number, so he didn’t have to deal with the pleading, whimpering phone callk. Iris had put a stop to all that. She qualified as a nice girl so he didn’t like to speculate how she’d become as good as she was at what she was doing right now.