The Affair (20 page)

“Stephanie,” Robert began. He was alarmed to see tears in her eyes. “Maybe this isn’t a good time. We’re both tired. Let’s get some sleep.”

“I think that’s a really good idea.” She stood up smoothly, picked up Robert’s coat, and handed it to him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow. We’ll talk.”

She nodded as she walked him to the door, then she laid a hand on his arm. “I don’t want to think that you’ve been making a fool of me. I don’t want to think that you’ve been using me. Maybe I just want to think that we have a future together.” Then she leaned up and kissed him gently, brushing her lips against his. “Tomorrow. Tell me the truth.”

“We’ll talk tomorrow,” Robert said, tasting her lipstick on his lips, surprised by how husky his voice sounded.

“Tomorrow,” she said, pushing him out the door.

He headed down the stairs, out of the building, and walked over to his car. Robert hit the remote, opened the door, and climbed in without looking back. Sitting in the driver’s seat, he was facing the front door of the Victorian. Stephanie hadn’t even walked him down the stairs. Usually, she waited in the doorway until he drove off but tonight was different. The bedroom light in the cupola came on, warm and yellow against the drapes, and he saw her shadow move behind them. He knew what that bedroom looked like, knew what the bed felt like beneath his naked flesh. He waited a moment, wondering if she would look out. She didn’t, and the light flicked off, leaving only the twinkling Christmas lights to silently mock him. Robert stared at them until his eyes filled with tears and the lights fractured. “What a mess,” he breathed, the words white on the air before him.

Brushing his fingers over his eyes, he turned the key in the ignition, and backed out and drove home.

“I
wasn’t sure if you were coming home tonight.” The voice whispered out of the darkness, startling him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t wake me.”

Kathy was awake. It was the perfect opportunity. Now or never. He could sit on the edge of the bed and tell her the truth, whispering his secrets into the darkness.

And tell her what?

Once he started to tell this story, he had to go right through to the conclusion. And he wasn’t sure what the conclusion was. Which version of the truth did he want to tell? It was the question that had gnawed at him on the drive home.

Did he want to stay with Kathy, or did he want to go with Stephanie?

He tugged at the knot in his tie, pulled it open, the raw silk hissing like a zipper, and threw it onto the chair by the nightstand. It slipped onto the floor.

Of course, it wasn’t quite that simple. If he told Kathy that he’d been having an affair, would she still want him? He remembered how she had reacted when she had confronted him six years ago. Maybe if he admitted it to her now, she’d tell him to get out, and the decision would be made for him. Is that what he’d wanted all along? For Kathy to find out, for Kathy to make the decision? Robert squeezed his eyes shut, suddenly disgusted with his own cowardice.

“I only had a couple of drinks, and the roads weren’t too bad.” He pulled off his suit jacket, folded it over the chair, and began to unbutton his shirt.

“I called earlier.” Her voice was crisp and clear; she sounded wide awake.

“I didn’t get it,” he said.

“It went straight to your voice mail.”

“We went to the Union Oyster House—bad place to get a signal.”

Driving home, he’d thought about telling Kathy. But, Stephanie was right; it was too close to Christmas.

Merry Christmas. Guess what, sweetheart? I’m having an affair.

That was the emotional response. Then the rational part of his mind kicked in, asking him why he should tell Kathy anything. Simple. He wanted to get to her before anyone else did, so he could tell her the story in his way, give her his version. He was a spinmaster, someone who lied for a living: making toothpaste look whiter and apples look fresher; making marginally talented boy bands look and sound like Radiohead. Robert knew how to twist something to his advantage.

No. As soon as Kathy heard Stephanie’s name, she would guess the truth.

And before he spoke to Kathy, he needed to talk to Stephanie again. He hadn’t liked the way the conversation had drifted this evening. Previously, their relationship had been lighthearted and fun. Sure, he’d always been vaguely aware that she expected more, but that was going to happen at some future date, some indefinable time when
things would be different.

Whatever that meant.

Whenever that was.

“How’s Jimmy?”

“Jimmy’s fine. He sends his love.”

“I’m surprised he remembered me.”

“Of course he remembered you.”

“So you didn’t get into Top of the Hub?”

And there it was again, the probing suspicion. This was not paranoia brought on by the events of the day; this was something more, something definite. “I’m going to call and complain in the morning. They said there wasn’t a reservation.” This was probably the longest conversation they’d had in a long time.

“That’s strange. Maureen usually doesn’t make mistakes like that.”

“It may have been the temp who made the booking. Maureen’s out sick at the moment.”

“You never told me!”

He could hear the accusation in her voice. “Oh, I’m sure I did.”

“You did not!” she snapped. “I most certainly would have remembered. I worked with Maureen, remember? How long has she been out sick?”

“I dunno, three weeks . . . four,” Robert mumbled. Shit, shit, shit. Why had he opened his mouth and mentioned Maureen’s name? Now there was every possibility that Kathy would want to talk to her. And that was the last thing he wanted at this moment. He’d decided on the way home that he really needed to get to see Maureen before Christmas, bring her a little present, tell her about the new business that Stephanie had brought the company. And yes, buy her loyalty.

“And you never told me. . . .” Her voice rose, and she lowered it again. “You never told me. I would have called her, visited her.”

Christ, couldn’t she understand that he had a lot on his mind at the moment? Maybe if she’d shown more interest in the company, she’d have known about Maureen. Maybe if she’d shown more interest in him, he would not have had an affair. Maybe this was really Kathy’s fault. “I’ve been busy. I must have forgotten.”

“What’s wrong with her?”

“Chest infection or something. Doctor’s note says she won’t be back until January. And it’s the busiest time of the year.”

“You make it sound as if she got sick deliberately. I can’t remember the last time she was ill. Can you?”

Robert didn’t answer. He stepped into the bathroom, pulled the door closed, clicked on the light, and picked up his electric toothbrush. So what if she wanted to visit Maureen? He suspected that Maureen knew about his affair; shit, it sounded as if the entire industry knew about it. Even if Kathy got to her before him, Maureen was no fool. She knew the state the company was in, knew too that it was only the business Stephanie had sent their way so far that had kept them afloat and paid her salary. She’d keep her mouth shut. Still, it would be better if he could get to her quickly. Maybe tomorrow. No, Sunday maybe, or Monday. Maybe he’d call her. It wouldn’t do any harm to remind her—subtly—who paid her salary; at her age she wasn’t going to get another job as cushy as this. Maureen liked to think that her contacts in the business were second to none. But time was passing her by, and slowly, one by one, her contacts were becoming useless as her old friends were replaced by new people. Younger people.

He’d call her in the morning because women, in Robert’s limited experience, stuck together. Like Stephanie’s meddling friend Izzie warning her off him in the first place; why didn’t she just mind her own business? If Kathy went to Maureen voicing some vague suspicion, God only knows what Maureen would say. Actually, it might be better if he popped by her place in the morning, maybe bring a bunch of flowers and a Christmas bonus. He nodded into the mirror. That’s what he’d do; it would keep her sweet.

“Who’s the new receptionist?” Kathy asked when he came out of the en suite bathroom. White light flooded the bedroom, and he watched her raise her hand to shield her eyes. He quickly shut off the light.

“A temp. Illona. Russian, I think. I got her from an agency. She’s very good.”

“Maybe Illona made the reservation?” she suggested.

Robert pulled out a fresh pair of pajamas and tugged on the top. “Maybe. But it was about four weeks ago; I’m pretty sure Maureen was still around then. It’s not a big deal. I’ll complain to the restaurant in the morning, if I get a chance.”

“Do you want me to do it for you?”

Something in her voice, some eagerness, some expectation alerted him. He’d heard that tone before, and he knew then, knew for a certainty that Kathy was suspicious. Only this time there was a reason. He was aware that his heart was racing. It was beating so hard and so fast, he could actually feel the skin vibrate. Christ, that’s all he needed right now was a heart attack. He took a deep breath and forced his voice to remain calm, and then he smiled in the darkness. “That’d be great. Table for two, Friday night, seven thirty, in either my name or Jimmy Moran’s. I used his name too just in case he got there first.” Let her check up; she’d find nothing, and it might allay some of her suspicions.

Robert got into bed. The sheets were icy, but maybe that was because he felt as if he were burning up. He leaned across and kissed his wife quickly on the cheek.

“Night.” She muttered the single word as she rolled over, turning away from him. He found himself getting angry. Why did he put up with this? Was this his future? Was he destined to spend years going though this loveless routine, gradually becoming more and more distant from Kathy, until there was nothing left between them but bitterness?

But there was an alternative.

There was Stephanie.

She loved him, and he loved her. She loved being with him. There was an opportunity for a future for both of them. A happy future. But she wouldn’t wait forever.

But the children. What about the children?

When he eventually fell asleep, he tossed and turned in dreams where he chased Brendan and Theresa through endless corridors. They were always just out of reach, and Kathy and Stephanie appeared around every corner, watching, waiting, accusing.

He awoke around four and didn’t sleep for the rest of the night.

Saturday, 21st December

 

 

“I
told you we should have gotten the smaller tree.”

“Dad! You know we always get the biggest tree we can find,” Theresa said.

“And then we always spend ages cutting the end off,” Brendan reminded his sister.

“Who’s this we?” Robert asked. “Looks like I’m the only one sawing at the moment.”

“Hey, we’re holding it steady,” Brendan reminded him.

Robert, along with Brendan and Theresa, had gone thirty miles outside of Boston to buy a Christmas tree at Doe Orchards in Harvard. It had become a tradition over the years to buy their tree as close to Christmas as possible, a tradition that was becoming increasingly difficult to keep as trees began appearing in neighbors’ windows earlier and earlier in December and surviving long into January. The other part of the tradition of course was that Kathy would complain about the tree—it was too big, too bushy, too thin, too lopsided, and, Robert’s favorite, too environmentally incorrect to cut down a live tree.

But at least they had been spared Kathy’s complaining this morning, and, for that small mercy, Robert was grateful. Although Kathy had been in bed when the trio had set out to buy the tree, she’d left the house by the time they had returned a few hours later. A scribbled note on the kitchen table said:
Gone Shopping.

It suited Robert perfectly. Once he got the tree into the house, and dug the decorations out of the garage, he needed to see Stephanie. He glanced at his watch; he wanted to be gone before Kathy came back.

But the tree was too tall; it wouldn’t fit into the house.

He spent a frustrating half hour sawing off the base of the tree, getting covered in sticky sap and pricked by scores of needles. And every moment he expected to see Kathy’s car turn down the road. Finally, he managed to chop and saw eighteen inches off the end of the tree, and, with Theresa holding the top, Brendan the middle, and him taking up the rear, they backed the tree through the kitchen door and into the house.

“We could set it up in the hall,” Robert said, voice muffled behind branches, which kept swatting him across the face.

“Dad!” Theresa squealed in disgust. He made the same suggestion every year, and every year they placed the tree in the family room.

With the tree finally set up in its usual corner, standing in a bucket filled with stones, and more or less straight, Robert turned to Brendan.

“I know, I know,” the young man said. “Vacuum up the needles. I’ll get on it.”

“Right. I’ll get out the decorations, then I need to wash up and head into the office for an hour or so.”

“Dad! Do you have to?”

“This is to do with DaBoyz!” He leaned over and patted Theresa’s cheek. “Just think, if I get this gig, you can come on set when I shoot their video.”

Theresa looked distinctly unimpressed, with that look that only teenage girls perfect. “Yeah, I don’t think so!”

“I thought they were good,” he said, surprised. “Up and coming. They were on
Ryan Seacrest.
”

“And they were crap,” she said. “Their last single didn’t even chart. And Gideon, the lead singer—”

“Which one is he?”

“Shaved head, little pointy beard.”

Robert nodded, vaguely remembering the young man. He’d thought all five band members looked alike.

“Gideon’s gay. He’s dating Vic, the drummer,” she said seriously.

“How do you know?” Robert knew the answer just as the words were coming out of his mouth. With media access and social networking, teenagers often knew about breaking news long before adults did.

“There were like a hundred tweets about it last week,” she answered. “Everyone is expecting the band to break up.” She saw the look on her father’s face and grinned. “Are you sure you want to shoot their video?”

Robert licked dry lips, tasting pine and bile in equal measure. “I don’t know.”

“Might be a mistake, Dad,” Brendan said, coming back into the room, lugging the upright Oreck. “If they’re about to go bust, these bands usually blame everyone but themselves. Blaming the video is high on their list.”

“Wish I’d spoken to you two sooner,” he muttered, leaving the room.

“Anytime, Dad,” Brendan called after him. “Say, do we get a consultant fee for this?”

 

Robert stepped into his home office, shut the door, then, as an afterthought, turned the key in the lock. Folding his arms across his chest, he stared out across the bare winter garden, not quite sure what to think. The big gig, the great opportunity, might just turn out to be not so big, not so great as he had imagined. He’d talk to Stephanie about it; she’d know what to do.

He sat in his chair and reached for his cell. He never called Stephanie on the home phone; he didn’t want the itemized bill displaying numerous calls to a single number. He hit the speed dial and, while he waited for the call to connect, he rifled through the correspondence in his basket. He’d been so busy at work that he hadn’t had a chance to attend to it. He’d stuffed all the correspondence in his briefcase on Monday last, intending to deal with it during the week, but so far, he hadn’t even had a chance to glance through it.

The call connected.

“How . . . how are you feeling?” he asked immediately.

“I’m tired, Robert.”

“Do you want to see me?”

“I always want to see you.” He could almost hear the smile in her voice.

“I was going to come over.”

“I’m about to head into the city; there’s an open-air carol service in the Common.”

“What time?”

“Starts about two.”

“Great. Why don’t I meet you there? We can listen to some carols, then go and get something to eat.”

“Okay,” she said after a brief silence. “Give me a call when you’re in the city.” The phone went dead.

Robert sat looking at the handset for a long moment. That had been very short and not so very sweet. He put the phone down and quickly sorted through the basket.

And for a moment thought he was indeed having a heart attack.

His MBNA Visa bill was in the pile. What was that doing here? He must have bundled it up with the mail he’d brought home from the office. He’d taken up the offer of the credit card shortly after he had started his relationship with Stephanie, thinking that it might be a useful way of allowing him to spend money unbeknownst to Kathy. Kathy did the household accounts and paid all the bills, and the last thing he needed was for her to start questioning some of his expenditures. He still put his legitimate business expenses on the Wells Fargo card, but expenses that were specifically to do with Stephanie went on the new card. Statements were sent to the office, and he wrote them a check every month. He filled in the check stub with fictitious business meetings.

Robert turned the statement over and over in his fingers. Had Kathy seen this? Unlikely. She rarely came into his office, and she would have no reason to go rooting through his mail.

Unless she was suspicious.

The thought crept slowly and insidiously into his consciousness.

And he knew she was.

He looked through the bill. It wasn’t as bad as he thought; most of the items on it he could claim as legitimate business expenses, even the books and CDs, which he’d given as gifts to Stephanie, he could claim as research material for a documentary. Documentary research covered a multitude of sins. He turned the page. “Shit!” There were three items on the second page that might be more difficult to explain. He had satellite TV piped into the office and often watched QVC, the shopping channel, when he was working, particularly when they were selling movie memorabilia, which he collected. However, he’d bought a bracelet for Stephanie—part of her birthday present—on the credit card, and he’d also ordered a bouquet of flowers online to be sent to her. He’d taken Stephanie to L’Espalier in the Back Bay, and he’d used the card to pay for that.

Okay. What was the worst-case scenario? Kathy had seen this page. If she had, then she was bound to raise the issue of the card. He could explain that away. The books, the CDs, he could explain away also. These three items however . . .

Well, the statement only showed the amount; it did not show the item.

The QVC bill could have been something for his computer. He had a couple of items in the office—wireless mouse, an external hard drive—that he could show her if necessary; she’d never know how much they cost.

The flowers. A birthday present, a thank-you gift. Maybe a get-well bouquet for Maureen. He must remember to really send her a bouquet, just in case Kathy asked about the flowers.

The dinner. Well, that could have been just any business dinner. A meeting at a hip restaurant to impress a new client.

A lie justified.

He sat back in the creaking chair, and then stopped. What was he was doing? He was creating a worst-case scenario—just in case Kathy confronted him. But only last night he’d been on the verge of confessing to her. So just what did he want to do? To stay with Kathy or go with Stephanie?

Both,
the little perverse thought at the back of his head whispered. Both. He wanted to have his cake and eat it too.