The Affair (19 page)

R
obert pulled the Audi into the empty space in front of number 8, alongside Stephanie’s silver BMW. He sat in the car for a few moments, listening to the engine tick, looking at the apartment. The house was in almost total darkness, just a few of the windows lit up, including the cupola, which sported the miniature Christmas tree they had bought together a few weeks earlier. He guessed that everyone was either out or gone home for the holidays.

He didn’t want to do this, he realized. He didn’t know what to say, and he was afraid that if he even brought up the subject, it would somehow change the nature of their relationship. Shaking his head ruefully, he climbed out of the car and pressed the door closed. He wanted her. . . . He wanted to finish with her. The truth was he didn’t know what he wanted . . . or maybe he just wanted it all. A wife at home and a mistress nearby.

Although he had a key to Stephanie’s apartment, he rarely used it, and he hit the bell, two short, distinct rings.

A moment later, light flared, and there was movement behind the bubbled glass. Stephanie pulled open the door and stepped to one side. She was wearing a peach-colored silk dressing gown, her hair wrapped in a towel. Her body, still damp from the recent shower, was clearly outlined against the thin fabric, nipples hard and pointed against the cloth. She smiled archly. “I really wasn’t expecting you.”

“There was a change of plans.” He kissed her quickly and brushed past her, through the door to the left, up the stairs, into her apartment.

Stephanie’s apartment offered a stark contrast to his home. He always felt slightly claustrophobic in the small rooms. Stephanie preferred comfort over form, and the combination living room/ dining room was cluttered with patterned furniture from Pottery Barn and a hideous dark-wood display cabinet filled with scores of pictures from her past: her family, her days at Princeton, and a few men whom Robert suspected were past lovers although he never asked. Dozens of paintings in just about every medium crowded each wall. There was little empty space, as if Stephanie had made it her mission to cover every inch of the quirky condo. Tall bookcases filled with everything from classics to comic books dominated either side of the fireplace. A flat panel TV hung on the far wall and below it, a micro-CD player was running, filling the air with the ambient New Age music that Robert hated and Stephanie adored.

“You look like you need a drink.” Without waiting for a response, she turned away into the small kitchen, which was just off the dining area.

“Coffee, no alcohol,” Robert called after her. He shrugged off his coat and tossed it onto a chair, then followed her to the kitchen and leaned against the doorway. The kitchen was tiny and pristine, and it was obvious that she rarely cooked. The gas oven looked unused, but the worktop was strewn with kitchen devices: kettle, toaster, microwave, water filter, and a state-of-the-art black and silver Keurig coffeemaker.

She bent over to open the fridge. “Are you sure? I’ve got a nice Pinot chilling. . . .”

“I’d better not. I’m driving.”

Stephanie straightened, and a frown flickered across her face. “You’re not staying?”

“No, not tonight. I can’t.”

“That wasn’t the initial plan.” She smiled.

“The plan changed.”

Stephanie started to make coffee. Robert watched her in silence while she plucked an individual coffee packet from the cupboard and put it in the machine. What was it about this woman that he loved? How had she completely captivated him? She was pretty, but not spectacular. In fact, he suddenly realized, with what felt like a growing sense of panic, she looked a little—no, she looked a
lot
—like Kathy, a slimmer, younger Kathy. Robert stared intently at the woman, shocked, horrified, and fascinated by what he had just discovered. How had he never seen it before? Perhaps because he’d never asked himself what had attracted him to her in the first place.

He watched her move, aware—all too aware—that she was naked beneath the silk robe. She poured water into the coffeemaker, and her robe gaped open, allowing him a glimpse of her breast. She flicked him a quick sidelong glance, and he knew he’d been caught. She reached to pull the robe closed.

“Don’t,” he whispered.

“You’ve seen them before.”

“The day I get tired of looking at them is the day I’m dead.”

But there were differences, huge differences between the two women. Kathy would never make coffee in the kitchen wearing nothing more than a flimsy robe. Kathy didn’t make him laugh anymore, didn’t arouse him anymore either. Stephanie did all of that, and more.

But somewhere at the back of his mind, he knew that he wasn’t being entirely fair to Kathy; he worked hard with Stephanie, worked to make her laugh, to make her happy, bringing her little presents, small treats, occasional bunches of flowers. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d brought Kathy a small present or a bunch of flowers.

“Tell me what happened?” she said. “I presume it’s something to do with Jimmy, since you were fine—more than fine—when I left you a couple of hours ago. Is he okay?”

“He’s far from okay. His life’s a mess.”

“His life has always been a mess,” Stephanie remarked. “Honestly, I think he thrives on the drama. He’s an actor, remember?”

“He’s not getting any younger. And this time the mess is bigger than usual. His wife’s finally giving him the divorce he’s wanted.”

“Well, that’s good news. . . .”

“And taking half of everything he owns.”

Stephanie looked at him sharply. “Good for her. That’s her right.”

“You heard that Frances, the girlfriend, had a baby?”

“I heard something about it.”

“Well, he’s going to marry the girlfriend and raise the child with her.”

“So he should.”

Robert shrugged noncommittally. He found he was vaguely uncomfortable with Stephanie’s reaction; she wasn’t exactly sympathetic toward Jimmy’s plight.

“You don’t look so sure,” Stephanie observed, watching him closely.

“Frances sold her story to the press. She used him to get free publicity, hoping she’d get that movie part.”

The coffee started to percolate, and the rich aroma of Kenyan filled the small kitchen.

“That was really the beginning of the end for him and Angela.” Robert sighed.

“But he’s still with Frances,” Stephanie said, pulling open cupboard doors and taking out two packets of Stevia. “He went back to her, got her pregnant.”

“You haven’t got sugar, have you?”

Stephanie didn’t look at him as she poured the Stevia into the coffee cup. “Sugar is bad for you.”

Robert shrugged. “Frances ruined Jimmy’s reputation in return for fifteen minutes of fame.”

Stephanie laughed, the sound high and bright. “She did not. He had no reputation to ruin. So he was a big deal back in Dublin. So what? Here, he’s just another actor. And not even a good one, and actors are a dime a dozen. And he has a reputation as an alcoholic womanizer.” She handed Robert the coffee. “Everyone knows about him.”

Robert accepted the mug from her hand. He sipped it, grimacing and yet relishing the harsh, bitter taste. “People know about us, Stephanie,” he said quietly. “Jimmy told me tonight.”

Stephanie’s eyes met his for a long moment before she sighed. Then she poured herself a large glass of white wine and walked past Robert into the living room. In one deft movement, she curled up on the sofa, tucking her bare legs beneath her.

Robert followed her into the room. “Did you hear what I said?” He sat down in the easy chair facing Stephanie. “People know about us.”

The room was still, silent save for the sound of ghostly wind chimes coming from the CD player. Something about Stephanie’s stony demeanor and her reaction finally clicked: She hadn’t been surprised. He had been stunned when Jimmy had told him; her reaction should have been similar, unless . . .

“You knew.” He was shocked and felt curiously betrayed. “You knew and you never told me.”

“Yes, I knew.”

Robert licked dry lips and drank deeply from the coffee. “How long . . . I mean, why didn’t you . . . what about your office?”

“There have been rumors floating around about us for the last couple of months,” she said simply. “I ignored them. This business of ours thrives on innuendo and gossip. And when two people are regularly seen together, tongues wag, even if there isn’t truth to the rumors.”

Robert groaned. His world was collapsing in on him, much faster than he had expected.

“And your boss? Does he know?”

“About a month ago, Charles Flintoff himself asked me outright if you and I were an item.”

“You said no,” Robert said immediately.

“I said yes.”

Robert looked at her blankly, mouth opening and closing wordlessly.

“Having a relationship with you is one thing—he doesn’t give a damn about that. Putting business your way is another. But as long as everything was aboveboard, well, that’s still marginally okay. However, lying to my boss was out of the question. The very fact that he was asking me the question suggested that he already knew the answer. I told him the truth.”

Robert was speechless. There were questions he wanted, needed to ask, but he could not formulate the words.

“And it was the right thing to do. He had the contracts for the jobs I’d given you, plus the estimates. He’d done some comparisons with the other bidders and had gotten an independent assessment of the final result.” She shrugged. “He could find no fault with it.”

Robert finally managed to find his voice. “So how many people know?”

Stephanie frowned. “Jesus, Robert, I could have lost my job over this.” She looked at him hard. “Why? What’s the problem?”

“Because if people know, then it’s only a matter of time before Kathy finds out.”

Stephanie’s face became an expressionless mask. She concentrated on her wineglass.

“I wanted to be in a position to tell her myself. When the time was right.”

“And when would the time be right, Robert?”

“When it’s right,” he muttered.

“And when would that be?”

Robert concentrated on his coffee. This was not going the way he had planned. On the drive over, he had rehearsed versions of the conversation he intended to have with Stephanie. He needed to explain to her that people in the business suspected that they were having a relationship and that, for the sake of her job, it might be best if they were to cool it for a while. They’d let things cool down, maybe not see one another for a few weeks or a couple of months, and then pretty soon people would forget. Stephanie’s revelation—that her boss knew and that she had admitted to him that the stories were true—changed all that.

“We’ve been lovers now for eighteen months, Robert. Where do we go from here? What’s the future?”

He had asked himself the same questions.

“You’ve told me how unhappy you are at home. You suggested to me—no, more than suggested, you
told
me that you would leave Kathy. . . .”

“I never said that!” he said immediately, a touch of panic clearly audible.

“Maybe not in those words, but that was my clear understanding. I would never have gotten involved with you otherwise. You told me you would leave her when the time was right.”

He heard the bitterness, the anger in her voice.

He nodded briefly. He had said that. He remembered saying it. They’d spent the day in bed. He had been exhausted, a little drunk. He’d said a lot of things.

“Well, when is the right time? This month? No, it can’t be this month because it’s Christmas, and you don’t want to ruin Kathy’s Christmas. Of course you have no trouble ruining my Christmas, but that’s another story. So, when? Next month? No, that’s the New Year, not an ideal way to kick off the New Year. What about February? No, that’s Theresa’s birthday, and that’s not the sort of gift you want to give your daughter. Do you want me to go through the whole year? Do you?!”

He shook his head.

“There is never a right time, Robert.” Stephanie suddenly stopped ranting. Then she sighed. “Look, I’m tired and feeling incredibly bitchy, and my period’s overdue. I don’t want to be having this conversation with you right now.”

Robert nodded. He didn’t want to have it either. He had been shocked by the intensity in her voice.

“I had a drink with Izzie earlier. . . .”

“Does she know?”

“Of course she knows! Do you think I could handle this alone? Without a girlfriend to confide in, to get advice from? Izzie’s been my rock; she knew from the very beginning. She was the first to know.”

Robert squeezed his eyes shut. Who didn’t know?

“And she warned me, right from the start, not to get involved with a married man. She explained to me exactly what would happen, and you know what? So far, she’s been right. Just spot-on.”