The Affair (23 page)

The Mistress’s Story

Of course I knew he was married.

I knew he was lying to his wife, and I knew, in my heart, that he was also lying to me.

But I loved him.

Or at least I thought I loved him.

Thursday, 19th December

 

 

S
tephanie Burroughs ran the back of her hand down the length of the raw silk tie. It felt cool and soft against her skin. She glanced up at the young woman standing behind the counter. The girl was staring at her blankly, a professional smile fixed on her lips, but with that empty, expressionless face of someone who is overworked and underpaid.

“Long day?” Stephanie asked sympathetically, folding the tie back into its box.

“Long week,” the girl murmured, glancing around quickly to make sure her supervisor wasn’t around. “With no end in sight.”

Stephanie put two boxes side by side on the counter and compared the ties—one a deep, powerful crimson, the other a rich gold—and tried to choose between them.

“You’re not off for the weekend?”

“I wish!” the girl said, obviously grateful for someone to talk to. Once she started to talk, she didn’t stop. “But with Christmas not falling until Wednesday, we’re working right through until Christmas Eve, and then we’re open again on Friday. But I’ve got the following Monday off,” the girl added with a smile, “and Wednesday, New Year’s Day, of course. Then we’re back to normal. December is seriously the longest month. I’m sorry, I’m babbling, which tie are you interested in?”

“I’ll take them both,” Stephanie said. She suddenly felt sorry for the salesgirl forced to spend long hours on a shop floor for minimum wage. She’d never really thought about working in a retail environment where you started at nine and finished at five thirty or six, with a late night on Thursday and open on the weekend. She thought it must be like prison. After she’d graduated from business school, she’d been seduced into the world of television research, which had more or less allowed her to set her own pace. Now, as senior accounts manager for one of the largest advertising agencies in the world, she was moving steadily along a career path that often demanded long hours, but equally allowed a lot of free time. And it paid well. Very well. And December, for her, was turning out to be a remarkably short month. There were only a few small projects to complete, then the office closed on Tuesday and wouldn’t reopen until the second of January.

“Cash or charge?”

“Charge.” Stephanie handed over her platinum AmEx card.

The salesgirl rang up the purchase and slipped the two long, rectangular tie boxes into a black bag. “A Christmas present?” she asked.

Stephanie nodded. “For someone special.” She smiled. “Merry Christmas.”

“I’m sure he’ll love them. Merry Christmas.”

Stephanie Burroughs wandered into Copley Place and allowed herself to be carried along by the crowd. She had a few small presents left to get and wanted to pop into Neiman Marcus. She knew Robert would like the ties; she’d seen him wearing the ones she’d bought him over the past few months. They matched the Forzieri suit he’d initially been so skeptical about. She still hadn’t picked up his “big” present and, as time went by, she was finding him more and more difficult to buy for. He had the unfortunate habit of buying himself whatever he wanted. She’d had her eye on the new iPad and had wanted to get it for him before he bought it for himself. He had the latest in cameras—he’d gotten a new one last Christmas. She was also thinking about the new iPod. The only problem was, he rarely listened to music. She found that inconceivable. For her, music was one of the great joys of life. It went everywhere with her; it played through every room in her home, even in the bathroom, on her computer, her laptop, in the car, in the office. She owned hundreds of CDs; she thought he might own two dozen. For an otherwise remarkable and creative man, she found it a curious lack in his character.

Stephanie pushed her way into Neiman Marcus. She loved the familiarity of her favorite shop, and despite its often extravagant prices, she felt comfortable there. She headed toward the men’s department.

The other problem was that she loved to buy him presents. She didn’t need an excuse or an event, and over the course of their eighteen-month relationship, she hadn’t let a month go by without surprising him with something.

And he had done the same for her.

But this would be their second Christmas together, and she was determined to outdo herself. So far she’d gotten him some shirts in a nice Oxford weave, and now she had these ties to match. She’d picked up a stunning book of aerial photographs of the world, which she thought he’d like, and
The Godfather
trilogy on Blu-ray that she knew he’d love, but she needed just one more present, something personal....

Of course, she could always do as she’d done last year: wrap herself up in tinsel and bows and present herself as his Christmas present. They’d both enjoyed unwrapping that gift.

She touched the Hermès Birkin bag he’d given her. It was incredibly impractical and way too expensive, but she carried it proudly. She was both impressed and surprised that he had been able to procure such a coveted fashion accessory, and she adored the envious looks of the other girls in the office, or women walking down the street who recognized it for what it was.

Stephanie dipped into her bag and pulled out her BlackBerry. Robert was the first number on her list. She tried his direct line in the office, bypassing Illona on the reception desk, but the phone kept ringing. She glanced at the clock: three thirty. A little early to have closed the office. She hung up and tried his cell.

It rang for six rings, and she hung up before it transferred to his voice mail. She’d catch him later.

Stephanie wandered through the men’s department. What exactly did you get the man who had everything and wanted for nothing? Clothes certainly, but they weren’t exactly the most exciting of presents, and he didn’t play tennis or golf. He had no real hobbies as far as she could determine; his entire life revolved around his work.

Finding nothing in Neiman’s, she left the shop and maneuvered her way through the mall toward Landau, the jeweler. Maybe a watch. A watch wasn’t really jewelry. Watches tended to fall into two types, very thin or very chunky, and she wondered which one he would prefer. Maybe something in silver, with lots of dials and buttons—he was just like a big kid that way. She nodded, seeing her reflection in the shop window mirror the movement. A watch, a diver’s watch, with three dials and a rotating bezel, silver with a black face . . .

Then came the little practical thought, the one that now accompanied, touched, and tainted everything she bought him: Would he be able to wear it without his wife noticing and asking questions about where he got it?

She sighed, her breath misting the glass before her face. Who would have thought that buying a present would be so complicated, and would have so many conditions attached?

Robert said that his wife had no interest in him—and Stephanie believed him. She saw absolutely no signs that Kathy showed any curiosity in his work or whereabouts, but that didn’t mean that the woman wouldn’t notice if he turned up wearing a nice chunky watch. Stephanie supposed he could always say it was a gift from a client. But she didn’t want that; she wanted him to be able to wear it and say: “My girlfriend gave me this.”

Girlfriend sounded better than mistress.

Maybe not a watch then. She pushed away from Landau’s window, exited the stuffy and overcrowded mall, and considered whether to go into Raven Used Books or Barnes & Noble. She wrapped her scarf tighter around her neck and hurried down Newbury Street. While she loved the used book store, it would be faster for her to find a present in the large chain. Barnes & Noble was absolutely jammed with people. She thought it was such a shame he read so little that books were a limited option. He claimed he simply had no time. She’d bought him some books on CD for the car stereo for his birthday a few months earlier, but she’d noted the last time she sat in his car that they were still in their plastic wrappers, unopened.

Maybe a print, or an original painting? But, although they shared an interest in so many things, they were diametrically opposed in others, especially art. She preferred modern art, bright primary daubs of colors, loving the energy and emotion they conveyed. He preferred—if he had any real preference—photorealism.

Besides, if she got him a picture or a print, where would he hang it? It came back to the same question, one she was beginning to tire of asking: What would his wife say? He could hardly bring it home and hang it on the bedroom wall. That would be awkward.

She turned to the right as she came out of the bookstore and headed farther up Newbury Street, glancing cursorily in the windows of the posh shops as she hurried past. An overcoat was an option—something in mohair perhaps—or a Burberry scarf, maybe a nice briefcase, a wallet, pens . . .

She stopped and grinned. She was getting desperate and stupid. She could hardly give her lover a fancy pen, could she? Besides, last year he had given her a magnificent antique gold pendant inset with a chip of opal as big as her thumbnail. And for her birthday recently, he’d given her a fabulous modern silver bracelet. He had designed it himself. He took time to look for interesting and unique presents for her. The final option would be a gift certificate, but she hated giving small, colorful plastic cards with money values for presents because they were completely impersonal.

Kathy had given Robert a gift certificate last year. And a tie. And a state-of-the-art digital camera.

Stephanie felt her cheery mood slip a little. Some days she felt as if she were living with Kathy Walker. Glancing up and down the street, she noticed a Salvation Army band was gathered around the huge Christmas tree, and the rich sounds of trumpets and cymbals were just audible over the noise of the traffic.

Lately, she’d discovered that Robert’s wife was never too far from her thoughts. Mostly, when she couldn’t sleep at night. Then, she would toss and turn, imagining the two of them in bed: not having sex—but the smalls of their backs touching. Sharing an unspoken intimacy that she believed was meant for her. Stephanie tried, unsuccessfully, to expel Kathy Walker from her thoughts. And at times like these, when she was buying Robert a present, she’d find herself wondering what Kathy was going to get him for Christmas, or what she’d gotten him for his birthday. Sometimes she even found herself wondering what Robert was giving his wife.

When she’d first begun her relationship with Robert, it hadn’t been a problem. She had known he was married; but she also knew that he was emotionally separated from a woman who seemed to have stopped caring for him. He was attracted to Stephanie and she to him, and they were two adults, and so long as they weren’t hurting anyone . . .

Stephanie turned off the busy street. Even though she was outside in the crisp air, she suddenly felt incredibly claustrophobic.

When she’d started the relationship, she had never expected it to last. She had given it three months, six at most. She’d never thought about his wife or kids, of that other life he had with them, a life apart from her. As time went by, and she had slowly, inexorably, almost unconsciously fallen in love with him. And, subsequently, she wanted to know everything about him. His likes and dislikes, his dreams, his plans, his past . . . and that’s where it became complicated, because Robert’s past was still very much with him, wrapped around a wife and two children and a job that he obsessed about.

Why did she have to go and fall in love with him?

Because she was an idiot.

You don’t fall in love with a married man.

She’d given the same answer to girlfriends who had ended up in similar situations, and she’d always sworn she wasn’t going to make the same mistake. Yet, when she fell in love with him, she had starting asking questions about his other life: the life that didn’t include her. A part of her brain even pretended that the more she knew about it, the more she could demystify it, and the more she could justify her actions. Because if Robert’s wife didn’t love him, Stephanie could defend her own behavior.

You don’t fall in love with a married man.

But she had.

The fading notes of the Salvation Army trumpets sounded like mocking laughter following her down the street.