My Husband's Wife (29 page)

The burning smell has died down now.

That's something. But there's a taste of unease in the air.

Have I missed my last chance?

What is she up to?

What is she planning next?

Of course, the publicity for the new painting had played its part in bringing them together. The ‘fairy-tale story', as one paper put it, about the artist and his sitter.
‘
The Italian Girl Grown Up'. The magazine articles. Ed's arm around her shoulder for the camera. The brush against her cheek – so close to her mouth! – after a particularly glittery cocktail party. Carla didn't even have to try.

But nothing more physical had happened until the night when Lily was working late in the office (again!), and she was posing for yet another picture in the sitting room, the window open to an unusually hot night. Carla had purposefully worn no make-up, knowing he preferred her like that. She could feel the warm air making tiny beads of sweat break out on her lip. ‘A little to the left … Now to the right.'

Suddenly Ed moved away from his easel and walked towards her. He got down on his knees and gently, very gently, moved a tendril of hair from her forehead. ‘You're the most beautiful creature I have ever seen.' Then he kissed her. And she let him.

For a minute, Carla had a glimpse of the man on the plane. The one she'd dismissed on the grounds of his wedding ring. Hadn't she always told herself that she'd never get hurt like Mamma had been?

But as Carla allowed herself to be laid down on the soft sitting-room carpet, she couldn't help thinking how much she'd love to have a famous artist for a boyfriend. A place of her own. Her own money. (She would of course share this with Mamma.) A standing which would impress even the neighbours at home, who would have to be kind to Mamma now, especially as Ed's work was soon to be exhibited in Rome.

After that, they made love whenever and wherever they could. Hotels were best, Ed said. More private.

Yet he seemed to get more satisfaction than she. Ed was not the lover Carla had imagined he would be. Naturally, she'd had some experience. At university, finally free from Nonno's rules, she would flirt with boys who were likely to take her to dinner. Sometimes she would let it go further. A new dress perhaps in return for a weekend in Sorrento. Always, she took precautions. Not just with her body but her mind. ‘I wish to concentrate on my studies – not fall in love,' she had told them all. But the truth was that she didn't want to get into trouble like Mamma had done. It was the financial stability of marriage she wanted. Not the role of a mistress.

And yet here she was, being just that.

‘I'm going to leave Lily,' Ed always promised. ‘I simply need the right time to tell her. This is more for me than just sex.'

I can help with that, Carla told herself.

One day, a few weeks after they'd started to sleep together, Carla made a call from the hotel room to the twenty-four-hour hotline of a celebrity gossip magazine while Ed was in the shower. The woman at the other end
was very interested in what she had to say. Carla spoke quickly. Then she put down the phone, without giving her name.

And shortly after that, Lily found them.

It was strange. Despite everything coming together, Carla didn't feel the expected satisfaction of revenge.

Instead, she felt cheap. Dirty.

Lily's face was white under the street lamp. Her glaring eyes belonged to a wild animal. Carla was scared. Ed saw that. He put his arm around her protectively, even though she could feel his body shaking too. ‘We love each other,' he kept saying to Lily. ‘We want to be with each other for ever.'

‘We couldn't help it,' Carla stammered.

Lily snarled. Yes! Snarled. ‘Of course you could.' Then she began to weep, which was worse. ‘I've helped you so much. Is this how you repay me?'

‘Repay?' Carla's voice rose into the night air and a passer-by turned to look. ‘You were the one who should have repaid me. I heard you in Devon telling Ed that you ignored my letters from Italy.'

‘I –'

‘Don't deny it. Don't try any of those lawyer lies on me, because I know them all myself.' She was sweating now with indignation. ‘If you hadn't told Larry to leave my mother alone, we would have been all right.'

Lily's laugh was brittle. ‘Is that what you really think, you silly little girl?'

‘I'm not –'

‘Listen to me.'

For a minute, it looked as though Lily was going to
grab her by the neck. ‘If Tony could deceive his wife, don't you think he could have deceived you and your mother as well?'

Carla had a flashback to the woman in the car with the bright lipstick.

‘I did you both a favour. Trust me. Just like you've done me a favour – both of you.' Then she swung round to face Ed. ‘If it hadn't been for Tom, I'd have left you years ago. Take this child,' she gesticulated towards Carla, ‘and go.'

Then she swivelled round to face Carla again. ‘You'll soon find out what he's like. And if you think you're going to get any money out of this, you're mistaken.'

Ed's hand tightened on hers. They were as strong as the waves of fear that were tightening her chest. ‘I've heard enough of this. Come on, Carla. We're going.'

‘No.' Lily's voice was stronger than she had ever heard it. ‘I'm the one who's going. Do you think I really want to go back to that house, knowing that you two have probably been at it like rabbits when I've been working? Besides, it will only have to be sold now anyway. Here.' She tossed the keys at Carla. ‘Take my set too. I'll be in touch about my things. Just get out of my sight. Both of you.'

Hang on
, Carla wanted to say.
This isn't how I thought it would be
. But Ed had gripped her hand so tightly that it almost hurt. Then he hailed a taxi and they went home. ‘Where will Lily go?' she asked as they opened the front door to be greeted by Lily's belongings everywhere: her white coat hanging on the hook in the hall; her heels neatly positioned by the door.

‘She'll be all right,' said Ed, drawing her to him. ‘She's tougher than she looks. Look how she had us followed.'

‘Really?' Carla tried to sound innocent.

‘How else do you think she found us?'

But Carla could not sleep for worrying. Supposing Lily did something stupid like jumping off a bridge, like some poor man had done only a week ago?
What do you care?
Mamma might have said. Yet for some reason, she did. For the first time, Carla wondered if Lily had been right when she said she'd done them a favour in pushing Larry away. Then there had been that final throwaway line.
If you think you're going to get any money out of this, you're mistaken.

All night, Carla tossed and turned. When she woke in the morning, to find Ed's head on her chest like a child in need of comfort, Carla felt another flash of misgiving. Then he woke, smiled and stretched out in the wide bed as the sun streamed in through the cream shutters.

‘Isn't this amazing?' he said, tracing her breast with his forefinger. ‘We were meant for each other. And now we'll be together for ever.'

Wasn't that what she'd wanted? But all she could think of were those grey hairs on his chest, that little bald spot in the middle of his hair, and the tears on Lily's face from the night before.

The headlines came swiftly:

‘I'm definitely keeping the house,' Ed told her a few days later. ‘I'm going to borrow some money so I can buy
Lily out. She's going to leave London and set up a practice in Devon near Tom. It's the best thing for everyone.'

‘But will we have enough to live on?'

He held her in his arms. ‘Don't worry about that.'

She took a deep breath. ‘I'm broke, Ed.'

‘Don't worry.' He kissed the top of her head. ‘I will look after you now.'

‘But I don't have any cash.'

Then he reached into his back pocket and peeled off some notes. ‘Is that enough?'

Her heart filled with relief. ‘Thank you.'

Of course, she banked most of it and sent a transfer straight to Mamma.

For a few weeks, Carla's doubts began to fade. There was something rather flattering about living with a famous painter. They went to nice restaurants. Waiters bobbed obsequiously. They were the couple of the moment. Everyone knew them.

She didn't have to worry about paying rent or bills. Edward – she liked to give him his full name at times – bought her lovely clothes. So Lily
had
been lying about the money! She even managed to stay working in the London office – they could hardly sack her, it would be against the law. And thankfully Lily was no longer there.

Some people of course were cool to begin with. ‘Memories are short,' Ed reassured her. And he was right. Within a couple of months or so, the coldness began to thaw, especially when one of the partners left his wife for his secretary and everyone had something else to talk about.

As for Ed, he couldn't have been more attentive. Sometimes too much so. One day, in the post, she received a
handwritten note in ink with beautiful sloping writing from Rupert.

Glad to see you are doing so well.

‘Who is that from?' asked Ed, reading the note over her shoulder.

‘Just a friend from law school.'

‘That kid who came here?'

Uncomfortable memories of Ed finding her and Rupert in the house came back to her.

‘Yes.'

Ed said nothing. But later that night when she put something in the bin, Carla found Rupert's note torn into tiny bits. ‘Why did you do that?' she asked him. But instead of replying, he kissed her deeply, and then began to make love to her with a passion that he had not shown for some time.

The shredded note was worth it, Carla told herself, as she lay gasping on the sheets. It was like it had been at the beginning, when Ed was still just enough out of her grasp for him to be exciting. And she suspected he felt the same.

There was nothing like unavailability for attraction. For the first time in ages, she thought of that pencil case. The one she'd stolen from another child. How she had wanted it! But then, when she'd had it, the craze had turned to something else instead. What was wrong with her, she wondered as she felt her way to the bathroom in the dark so as not to disturb Ed, that she always needed something more?

‘I can't eat it now.' Tom glares at me with fury in his eyes. ‘You've moved the cutlery. Look!'

He points angrily at the fork which I have edged a couple of inches to the left to make room for an extra setting. I've been looking after Tom for long enough now to remember not to do that, but every now and then something slips and I forget. The results can be spectacular. Like now.

CRASH.

Mum and I jump, grabbing each other's arms. It's not just the cutlery which has flown off the table. It's the plate next to it and a rather nice crystal wine glass which belonged to a wedding-gift set from all those years ago.

After Ed and I split and began dividing our possessions (which was nothing compared with the division in my own heart), I couldn't help thinking how ironic it was that wedding presents could long outlast the marriage itself.

To my horror, I feel tears pricking my eyes. Tears which I usually ban on the grounds that they do no good.
Besides, who wants an unfaithful husband? Good-quality wine glasses are far more useful.

‘Why did you do that?' I shout, ignoring the warning look in Mum's eyes.
Don't question Tom. Definitely don't argue with him. You won't win
. During the divorce – a ‘quickie', which had come through with indecent haste – Ed had claimed it was ‘useless' arguing with a lawyer. People like me, apparently, never listen to others; they always have their own answers at the ready.

Maybe that's where Tom gets it from. His ability to see his own point of view and no one else's.

‘You touched my knife,' he states factually, squinting through his new thick-framed black glasses. ‘I've told you before. I don't like that.'

Bending down, I sweep up the pieces of broken glass. ‘You're acting like a three-year-old,' I mutter.

‘Shh,' soothes Mum.

Normally I don't make a fuss. Since coming back to look after Tom, I decided it was the best way. But every now and then, I snap. Something usually acts as a trigger. Today I suspect it's the extra place setting at the table. A reminder of the life that ended on the night I saw Ed and Carla kissing outside the hotel off the Strand. Even now, I shudder if someone casually mentions the word ‘hotel'. It's like a trigger point, shooting me back, churning my guts, making me retch like I did back then on to the pavement, in a mixture of betrayal and disbelief.

Strangely, after those first few raw moments, there was no anger. There still isn't. It would be easier if there were. Mum says it's because I still haven't worked through my
feelings yet. Maybe she's right. But if so, when
am
I going to? It's been months now since Ed and I split. Yet it still feels as raw as if it had happened yesterday.

I had spent the night at a professional organization which I belong to (the University Women's Club, which had, by chance, a bedroom available) and called in sick the next day. There was no way I could face Carla, and I didn't put it past her to prance into the office as though nothing had happened.

Then my mobile had rung.

Ed. Ed?

‘We need to talk,' he said. Kindly. Without the defensive tone of the previous night. Was it because he was alone?

‘Is Carla there?'

‘No.'

So he could talk! Freely. Hope ballooned up into my throat. Ed wanted me back. Of course he did! We had a child together. A child who wasn't like most other children. Perhaps now, in the sobering light of day, Ed realized we needed to stick together for Tom's sake.

I didn't have my spare set of keys on me, it struck me, as I reached the door. Instead, I had to ring the bell, feeling like a stranger on my own doorstep. Ed greeted me with a glass of whisky in his hand. It wasn't even ten o'clock.

I launched straight in. ‘Look, I'm hurt about Carla. But I'm prepared to forgive you for Tom's sake. Can't we start again?'

Then, rather desperately, I added, ‘We've done it before.'

Ed patted my hand as though I was a little girl. ‘Come on, Lily. It's understandable that you're scared.' As he
spoke, there was a gleam in his eye. He looked like a kid himself, one who had been caught with his hand in the sweet jar but didn't care. He was on a high, no doubt helped by the drink. Something I'd seen time and time again during our marriage. Before long it would be followed by a plunge of mood.

You see? I know him far better than Carla. How will she cope?

‘You're young enough to start again, Lily. You make a great deal more money than me and …'

‘How can you talk about money!' I stood up and strode into the kitchen towards one of his paintings. It was a picture of the hotel we stayed at during our honeymoon. A picture he'd once helped me to copy, to show how colours could be mixed to achieve that subtle combination of blue merging into green. I can still remember his arm guiding mine, his touch thrilling mine. ‘Not bad,' he had said, admiring my efforts. And to show willing, he had actually put it on the wall. Next to his.

‘We need to talk about the practicalities,' he continued. ‘I suggest that I keep the house and buy you out.'

‘How?'

Ed was always hopeless when it came to money.

‘I've got an exhibition coming up. Remember? You could find somewhere in town and then we can each take it in turns to go down to Devon and visit Tom at weekends …'

‘You've got it all worked out, haven't you?' I said, appalled. ‘You and that Italian bitch.'

Ed's face darkened. ‘Don't call her that. You haven't shown me any affection for years. All you care about is your work.'

That wasn't fair. It's true that I was exhausted at night after work, but isn't everyone? And when I had made overtures on Sunday mornings, Ed always rolled away, declaring his back was stiff or that we would wake Carla, on the other side of the wall. How could I have been so stupid?

Once more, memories of a younger Carla came back to me. The little girl who had asked me to lie for her about that pencil case. The child whose mother was really seeing ‘Larry' instead of working.

Like mother, like daughter.

‘What are you doing?' yelled Ed.

I hardly knew myself. Later, I vaguely recall running at the kitchen wall, towards the pair of paintings of our honeymoon hotel. Picking up his, I threw it on the floor. Jumped on it. Then, pushing my way past Ed, I flew out of the house, weeping my way along the street.

The following day, I received a letter – hand-delivered at work – starting divorce proceedings on the grounds of my ‘unreasonable behaviour'.

But there's something else. Something I'm only now allowing myself to think. If I'm honest, Ed and I weren't right for ages. But I couldn't leave him because of Tom. Is it possible that, unintentionally, I had ignored the signs of affection between our lodger and my husband? Had I, unconsciously,
wanted
something to happen between them to give me a justified get-out card from my marriage?

So maybe the ‘unreasonable' wasn't so unreasonable after all.