Tangled Lives (20 page)

‘That bad … time to get the drinks in.’ He motioned to a waiter. ‘What’ll it be? Manhattan? Mojito? Bullshot? Maybe a glass of fizz? Name your poison.’

She hesitated. ‘What’s a bullshot again?’

‘Vodka, consommé, lime, tabasco,’ Charles intoned before the waiter had a chance to reply.

‘I’ll have a glass of champagne, please.’ She threw a charming smile at the waiter.

‘Good plan. We’ll have a bottle of the –’ he thumbed the wine list he’d been perusing when she arrived ‘– make it the Cristal.’

She refused to let Charles see she was impressed as the waiter nodded politely and disappeared.

It was tempting to down the first glass of champagne in one, just to lift her mood. But it was too delicious for that, and for a moment they both sat savouring the eyewateringly expensive wine in silence. It seemed to her that Charles was reluctant to say what he had come to say.

‘So?’ she enquired, her tone now kinder as the champagne began to work its magic. ‘What was it you had to see me about in person?’

Charles sighed. ‘Not easy, this,’ he began. ‘I’m not sure what it’s all about …’ He looked her straight in the eye. ‘But Louisa really isn’t keen for me to meet Daniel.’

She was puzzled. ‘Why not?’

He shrugged. ‘I know, don’t tell me she hasn’t the right. I realise that. But there are issues …’ He tailed off, seeming reluctant to explain.

Annie waited. A woman in a sleek black dress, heels staggeringly high, tottered past, trailing clouds of a heavy, musky scent which caught in her throat.

‘She’s … well, how do I put this? She’s a bit unstable. There have been various times over the years when she’s been really upset about something and … and once she tried to kill herself.’ Charles looked embarrassed.

Was he serious? ‘You’re worried she’ll kill herself if you see Daniel? Why would she? You probably didn’t even know her back then.’

‘Nope … all true. I don’t know much about these things, Annie. She’s been to all sorts of doctors and therapists, and it gets better for a while. But she’s fundamentally
paranoid about me … who I see, who I talk to. She suspects me.’

‘Of having affairs?’

‘That, yes … I can’t even glance at another woman.’

‘But what’s that got to do with Daniel?’

‘I wish I knew.’

‘I hope she’s not jealous of me. That would be ridiculous!’

Charles pulled a tragic face. ‘You mean you don’t fancy me any more? I’m gutted.’ She ignored his remark. ‘She’s fiercely protective – too protective in my opinion – of our daughter, Amelia. Maybe she feels threatened.’

‘But have you had affairs?’

He looked uncomfortable, didn’t answer.

‘A yes, then.’

For a second his face fell, all trace of roguishness gone; he looked exhausted. ‘It’s not been easy, Annie,’ he said quietly, then, almost immediately pulled himself together, straightening his back, brushing his grey-blond hair off his forehead and swallowing a large swig of champagne. ‘But hey, no point in moaning. That never changed anything.’

‘So are you saying you’re going along with your wife? That you won’t see Daniel because if you do she might attempt suicide?’ She stared at him. ‘I find that really hard to believe. This isn’t some phony excuse, is it?’

He held up his hand. ‘Wait a minute, that’s not fair. I
want
to see him. I decided that the day you told me about
him. I’m curious, of course I am, but I need time. I can’t risk …’ he paused, took a deep breath. ‘God, I’m sure I’m overreacting. It’s ludicrous, as you say, to think she might do something stupid, but I have to find a way to see Daniel that doesn’t upset her.’

‘And how will you do that? I mean, if Louisa holds this terrible threat over you, what will change?’

‘No idea, I’m afraid. She’s convinced it’ll be disruptive, that our family’s fine as it is. She seems worried this might damage it in some way,’ he muttered, almost to himself. He looked up at her. ‘I’m sure none of that’s even remotely true … is it?’

‘There have been, um, a few problems,’ she spoke cautiously, not wanting to spell it out.

‘Your other children cut up rough, did they?’

She nodded. ‘My daughters have been brilliant about it. But Ed, my other son … he’s not found it easy adjusting to Daniel. Not really his fault, he’s not the most confident of people. To be honest, I don’t know what to do about him.’ She wasn’t going to mention Richard’s behaviour, it seemed so petty.

Charles was looking at her with concern, and she felt the tears after he must have seen them. She loved Ed so much.

‘I don’t really want to talk about it,’ she said, quickly delving in her bag for a tissue and blowing her nose.

‘So perhaps Louisa isn’t so stupid after all,’ Charles suggested gently.

She shook her head. ‘Not stupid, but wrong. Wrong to forbid you to do anything. Wrong to manipulate you with such a terrible threat.’

‘She didn’t “forbid” exactly. She’s ill, Annie.’

‘Alright, but still.’

‘There’s another issue,’ Charles went on. ‘She always wanted more children … a boy, and it … well, it never happened.’

Neither of them spoke for a moment. The room was noisier now as the bar filled up and people began to relax. It seemed as if the two of them were marooned on a separate island. Charles reached over and took her hand.

‘I’ve been thinking about it, and I can’t imagine how hard it must have been to give the baby away.’

She blinked back the tears and for a second clung to his hand.

‘Giving him away
and
getting him back,’ she muttered. ‘If only everyone would just let me get on with it. I’m not doing anything hurtful, am I?’

Charles sighed and let go of her hand. ‘Of course you aren’t. But you’re not giving me much incentive to get involved!’

‘No, I suppose not. But all the same, you will meet him won’t you, Charles? Just once. We owe him that.’

‘I’ll try to work something out. I honestly will try.’

She could hear that he meant it. But she also realised that where his wife was concerned he was weak. As I would be, she thought, married to someone that volatile.

‘Don’t do anything you’re not sure about,’ she warned. I don’t want the death of Charles Carnegie’s wife on my conscience.

Charles shot her a rueful smile. ‘Oh, Annie. One night of pleasure and we … or mostly you and Daniel, of course … are still paying for it decades later. Doesn’t seem quite fair, does it?’ He shrugged. ‘Come on, drink up. I’ll take you to dinner.’

Richard wasn’t there when she got home. Which was just as well because it was her turn to be drunk. For once she didn’t much care where the hell he was, just wanted to get into bed and sleep, pillow spin notwithstanding. First she tottered down to the kitchen and drank two large glasses of water. Thank God he’s not home. Then she went upstairs, stumbling round the bedroom, throwing her clothes about and barking her shin on the sharp wooden corner of the bed, drawing blood. I haven’t done anything wrong, but he won’t understand about Charles.
She
didn’t understand about Charles … or that manipulative wife of his.

Dinner had been fun. He’d taken her to an old-style Italian in Jermyn Street. She felt strangely at ease with him, considering she hardly knew him. But they’d shared a similar childhood in fifties Kensington; they’d both been packed off to boarding school and hung out in the same social group in London; they were joined by the common bond of their son.

She hid her debilitating hangover from Richard the following morning, and also what Charles had told her. In the cold light of day it seemed spineless not to be able to stand up to your own wife over such an important issue.

‘How’s the work going?’ she asked through her pounding headache. She had no memory of Richard coming in, so it must have been late, but she could hardly take him to task this time.

He looked up briefly from spreading Marmite on his toast. ‘Very labour-intensive. But we’re getting there. It’ll be a few weeks yet.’

‘But it’s going well?’ She tried, unsuccessfully, to focus on the sell-by date on the milk carton. She sniffed the contents. It was definitely on the turn and she nearly threw up.

‘Yes, yes, I think so.’ His expression seemed unnaturally wide-eyed and vacant to her, but perhaps she was imagining it. ‘How was your evening?’

‘Fine,’ she replied, but she could tell he was just going through the motions, not actually engaging in the exchange.

‘Good.’ Richard went back to his toast.

So he didn’t want to know about Charles. She’d expected the third degree, so his sudden lack of interest was like a slap in the face, almost worse than his previous jealousy. But she felt too fragile to tackle him then and there and they didn’t speak again. Richard got up to go, gave her a
cursory peck on the cheek, and left the house. She retired back to bed.

‘I’ve got a meeting with Gary this afternoon,’ she reminded Jodie when she got into the office later that morning, feeling a little better physically, but still smarting from Richard’s indifference. Jodie pulled a face.

‘Good luck! Temperature’s going to be over twenty-three, the forecast said.’

The web designer, who was doing a much-needed update of the Delancey Bakes site, was an IT genius, but he also had a serious hygiene problem.

‘Has to be done.’

She parked in the Chinese car park in Newport Place just before three o’clock and sat in her car for a moment to call Richard. She’d decided they had to talk, and not at home with Daniel and Lucy around.

His mobile went straight to answer, so she left a message: ‘It’s me. I’m in town seeing Gary the website man. Can we meet for a drink later? Give me a call.’

The afternoon with Gary was arduous. His Soho office was cramped and boiling, the tea mugs layered with stains and no doubt bacteria, and she had to hold her breath every time the big man moved. Added to which she hated everything technical, and Gary would insist on peppering his conversation with a baffling array of initials – CSS, SEO, RSS, HTTP, URL. ‘What part of “I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about” don’t you understand,
Gary?’ she finally asked, with more asperity than she intended. But Gary was so disconnected from the world and from people who weren’t rooted in nerd-speak, that his small brown eyes just looked nonplussed by her question.

When it was over, she stood on the pavement outside, breathing deeply and checking to see if Richard had called. There was no message. He’ll be stuck in a meeting, she told herself, wandering off down Old Compton Street in the general direction of the car park. She looked at her watch: five past six. Suddenly she made a decision and began to stride purposefully up towards Tottenham Court Road. It was still unpleasantly humid and hot, the streets filthy from days without rain and packed with tourist crowds meandering in gangs across the pavements, making it hard for Annie to weave through.

Richard’s office was on the first floor above an electronics store. The faded brown door buzzed without her saying who she was.

‘Annie! How are you? Long time no see.’ Trish greeted her warmly, getting up from her desk to give her a kiss on the cheek. Nearly twenty years as Richard’s office manager had forged a mutual liking and respect between the two women, although most of their relationship was conducted on the phone.

‘Roasting, isn’t it?’ Trish was fanning herself with a handful of computer printouts.

‘Nightmare.’

‘Is he expecting you?’ she asked. ‘He’s still in with Kate.’

‘Who’s Kate?’ Annie asked in a low voice.

Trish looked surprised. ‘Kate Martin? Haven’t you met her? Small, dark. She’s been with us at least three years now. I’m sure she was at the office party, but you probably didn’t notice her. Anyway, she and Richard are working together on the Vanquist deal.’

Annie wracked her memory. ‘No, I do remember,’ she said, although the image was vague. ‘Can I interrupt for a minute?’

‘Of course, you know where it is.’

She knocked on her husband’s door.

‘Come in.’

He was sitting in front of his computer in his shirtsleeves, a small fan gently whirring on the edge of the desk. A pretty girl in a cool mint-green shift dress which showed off her tanned arms sat on the other side of the desk in front of a pile of spreadsheets, a yellow highlighter clamped between her teeth.

Seeing Annie, Richard jumped up, looking pink and flustered.

‘Annie … what are you doing here?’ He waved her in, introduced her to the girl. ‘You remember Kate, don’t you?’ Kate gave her a wide smile and made an excuse to leave the room.

‘Didn’t you get my message? I’ve just been with Gary Toomey. I thought we could go for a drink.’

Richard hesitated, picked up his phone from under a
pile of paper and gave it a distracted glance, then put it in his trouser pocket. ‘Sorry, it’s been so busy. Umm … do you mind if we just go straight home. I’m absolutely knackered.’ As if to add verisimilitude to his words, he yawned, stretching his arms above his head.

‘No … no, that’s fine.’ She was tired too.

The Northern line was full and they were crammed by the doors, hanging on reluctantly to the sweaty overhead bar.

‘You look exhausted,’ she commented.

‘I told you. There just isn’t enough time in the day.’

‘I wasn’t accusing you, Richard. But all these late nights must be wearing you out.’

‘What do you mean, “all these late nights”? It hasn’t been that often.’

‘You know it has.’

Richard turned away.

She sighed. ‘I know why you’re doing it.’

‘What do you mean? I said … I’ve been working.’ He stared intently at her.

They must have been raising their voices, because she was suddenly aware of an uptake in interest from the people around them. Oh, good, a lively domestic to pass the time till High Barnet, she imagined them thinking. Richard must have sensed it too, because his next remark was almost a whisper.

‘Will Daniel be there tonight?’

‘I’ve no idea. We didn’t plan anything.’

Richard was silent as the train drew into Camden Town and disgorged a number of passengers, then sat with the doors open. Annie gulped in the cooler station air gratefully. After a while a chirpy disembodied voice came over the loudspeaker: ‘Sorry for the delay, folks. We’re being held at a red signal, but should be on our way shortly.’