The Other Half (32 page)

“So, do you reckon I’m truly awful, then?”

“Not necessarily. I haven’t met the bloke. I know you’re nothing like Julia, actually, and if you say things between him and his wife were bad already, and their marriage was over anyway, who am I to judge? It’s just, you’re my sister…” his voice went gruff “… and I’d rather see you with someone available, someone without baggage. You deserve to have a nice time with someone who’ll treat you well.” He paused, seeming to appreciate that maybe Chloë thought she
was
having a nice time. “How much are you seeing of this James, then?”

“I suppose we get to see each other once a week or so.”

“Oh, so it’s not that serious?”

“No, it is,” she countered. Nonetheless it forced her to consider: if James was serious, shouldn’t he be keen to be with me more often?

By now she felt the lowest of the low—unscrupulous, unwanted. She sniffed loudly. “Oh, I don’t know, Sam. That’s what I meant—I’ve got myself into a mess, haven’t I?”

41

Christmas was the hardest. Maggie didn’t feel able to refuse Jamie’s request that they spend it together as a family, so she allowed him to come home for a few nights, insisting he stay in the spare room. For Nathan’s sake she put on a brave face, and prepared a huge dinner as usual. She invited Fran, Geoff, and Dan, in the hope additional people would ease the tension between her and Jamie. She even roasted a turkey, and made do with a rather unsuccessful nut roast for herself.

At the event it was pretty depressing. Fran was so angry with Jamie she could barely be civil to him, and Geoff overcompensated with forced joviality. Nathan and Dan seemed to pick up the vibes, and jumped down from the table the moment they’d finished the main course, refused pudding, and galloped away to play in Nathan’s room.

“I’m losing respect for him,” she’d whispered to Fran as they carried the dishes from the dining room after dinner. “I get the sense that we’re going in different directions, growing apart. It’s as if the more I regain strength in my own convictions and become confident about what is right, the more woolly and muddled Jamie grows.”

“Or perhaps that’s just how he seems to you now,” Fran had responded.

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe he’s always been like that but this situation has allowed you to see it, highlighted this difference between you. It could be you who’s changed.”

“Possibly.” Maggie had nodded, scraping the leftover bread sauce into a smaller bowl and putting it the fridge. “Yet the trouble is, for me there’s no going back. I can’t compromise so much anymore. It’s why I changed the work I was doing, and the same goes for our marriage. For me, now everything is out in the open, it’s an issue of right and wrong, and while I suppose I wish Jamie would appreciate where I’m at, I don’t see much evidence.”

What she’d refrained from saying to Fran was that she couldn’t shake the image of her husband with another woman, that being in such close proximity to him made her skin crawl.

I’m so disappointed in him, she’d acknowledged to herself once they’d gone. I’m not sure I’ll ever feel the way I did before.

This was compounded by her certainty James was continuing to see Chloë. She’d asked him directly and he’d said, “Not really.” Which means he is, she decided. In some way I might understand better if he’d run into Chloë’s arms more assuredly; it would hurt hugely, but at least it would suggest the angst we’ve been through had a purpose, genuine passion, underlying it all.

Instead his halfhearted “not really,” coupled with his repeated pleas over Christmas that she let him move back into the family home permanently told Maggie that he was still torn and cared for them both, and when he left on Boxing Day, she heaved a huge sigh of relief.

*   *   *

New Year’s Eve promised to be more fun. Jamie had offered to look after Nathan, and Maggie’s friends William and Liz were holding a dinner party with around a dozen guests. They preferred to entertain at home, having recently had their baby, and so it was agreed that Jamie would stay in Shere with Nathan, so that Maggie could stay overnight with them in Twickenham.

It was strange socializing on her own, but as the evening progressed and Maggie had a couple of drinks inside her, she began to enjoy herself. Anyway, she argued, I knew William and Liz long before I met Jamie, and the other guests have never met me before, so why shouldn’t I let loose a little?

At about nine o’clock, when Liz was muttering that they couldn’t wait any longer and would have to start eating without him, Alex arrived. “Sorry I’m late,” he said. “Peace offering.” He handed over not one but three bottles of champagne.

Liz had organized the seating so that Maggie and Alex were next to each other: as the two “single” guests it seemed an obvious move. The irony of being planted next to her ex did not escape her, and Maggie was pleased. It gave her a chance to update him on the situation with Jamie without having to yell it across the table, and also, as she rapidly realized, it made it easy for them to flirt.

By the time it reached eleven o’clock she was warmly, but not uncontrollably drunk and at ease, though not so much so that she didn’t appreciate the spark developing between Alex and herself. Over the hour the chemistry became more marked, until eventually Alex leaned in close and asked, “Hey, Mags, d’you reckon you’ll get back together with Jamie, or is there any hope for an old flame like me?”

Maggie couldn’t think what on earth to say. Just then, as she was sitting there with her mouth opening and shutting like a goldfish, the countdown to midnight began.

“Ten!” shrieked William, poised at the head of the table, with one of Alex’s bottles in hand, his wrist tilted to face him so he could see his watch.

“Nine … eight … seven … six!” Everyone else joined in, standing up in the excitement. “Five … four … three … two … ONE!”

“Happy New Year!” There was the crack of a cork and champagne flew everywhere other than into the glasses. At that moment Alex grabbed Maggie’s hand and led her out of the dining room into the hall. “Only this once,” he said, “for the New Year. May the next one be better for both of us than the last.”

And then he kissed her.

To Maggie’s amazement, it was fantastic. Gentle and soft, but oh, so sexy. Had Alex always kissed like that? She was sure he hadn’t. In fact, once it had started she didn’t want it to stop, and were it not for a vague awareness that someone might emerge from the dining room and catch them, she would happily have stood there, in the corner of the hallway, kissing him, so deliciously, for the next few hours. She felt her whole body come alive, as if what was happening to her lips was a magic key, unlocking her entire being.

Suddenly, she thought about Jamie, about how she’d been judging him, about how she’d implied to Fran only a few days previously that infidelity was such a clear-cut issue. Was this what had gotten into him? Was this what it had been like with Chloë, so tantalizing, so irresistible?

She pulled away. “Oh, Alex … I’m not sure we should be doing this, should we?”

“No, we probably shouldn’t,” he said, but he didn’t sound as if he meant it, and merely started kissing her again.

Lord, it was so good!

He felt different from Jamie, smelled different. Yet he felt and smelled familiar too, and briefly Maggie was taken back to her youth, to the years they’d spent together. How comforting, reassuring. And then again as they continued embracing, touching, she grew increasingly aware that Alex wasn’t the man he’d been then, that he was different, somehow, somebody exciting, new.

“Maggie, you do know I still care about you, don’t you? I care about you an awful lot…”

“And I you,” she said, realizing that she did, though unsure whether it was quite to the same degree. And as she was swept up into his kisses once more, and felt the solidity of his body against her, she was filled with yearning for him, for his uncomplicated kindness and humanity.

“Where are you staying tonight?” he murmured a few minutes later. “Have you got to go home?”

“I was supposed to be staying here,” Maggie whispered, “with Liz and Will…”

“Why don’t you come back with me?” He pulled away from her a little, and started stroking her hair. She remembered how he’d always loved her hair, how soft and beautiful he’d said it was. “It’s not far…”

Maggie frowned. If I go back I can guess what will happen, she thought. I’m far too turned on not to have sex with him. Then there won’t be the clear distinction between my behavior and Jamie’s anymore. It’s only been a month since Jamie moved out and I haven’t sorted my feelings about him, let alone another man … But then, she argued with herself, would it really be so bad? She’d been so goddamn
good.
Wasn’t it time she had some fun? And at least with Alex she knew he cared …

Ultimately, what swayed her was curiosity. As far as she remembered—but it had been over fifteen years since she’d slept with him—Alex hadn’t been
that
great a lover, at least not as good as Jamie, and she wanted to see if this was still true. Because if these incredible long kisses were anything to go by, he had changed … He had changed, a lot.

“Okay. What the hell? It’s New Year’s Eve…”

“I’ll tell them you don’t feel so good,” said Alex, appreciating without her saying that she’d want to be discreet. “I’ll say I’m going to drop you home after all.”

“Thank you.” She smiled up at him. He’s generous, she thought.

And so, an hour later, she found herself in Alex’s apartment in Putney. He poured them each a nightcap, and sat down next to her on the sofa. Maggie felt self-conscious all over again.

What
am
I doing? she thought. Is this really such a good idea? Won’t it ruin the chance of a reconciliation with Jamie once and for all, or are we beyond that anyway?

Alex seemed to pick up on her doubt. “It’s okay.” He took her hand. “I’ll look after you, I promise. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. And you’re not to worry—I’ve no expectations beyond tonight.”

Yet as he said that, Maggie knew that she did want to—that she more than wanted to, she
needed
to, and she needed Alex to want her very much indeed. It was as if the lid had been lifted off all the unexpressed passion she’d harbored for months, and now she had an outlet for it, with someone who reciprocated her desire.

What started as a little tentative hand-stroking rapidly developed into more; within minutes Alex had slipped his hands into her bra and was stroking her breasts. Soon they’d tugged off each other’s clothes and she’d pulled him on top of her. Then they threw the cushions off the sofa and—laughing—tumbled onto the floor. Maggie could feel the carpet scraping her back, but she didn’t care. Far from it—there was something about the mild discomfort that turned her on even more. With one foot, she pushed away the coffee table so she could lift her legs, allowing him to penetrate more deeply.

Bloody hell! she thought, I am quite, quite convinced Alex did not do it like this before …

Halfway through he stopped and withdrew from inside her, then very gently put two fingers into her, pushing slightly toward her belly, then away as he did so. Jesus, she said to herself, I’ve not had that experience, ever—maybe it’s the G-spot I never really believed existed … And then he started to kiss her body, pausing to suck on her breasts—mmm, she’d
always
liked that. He continued kissing her lower down, so she wasn’t sure what was what or where, only that it felt so good.

She opened her eyes and looked down at him, and as she did so she could see him tenderly watching her, seeing if she was happy.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

It made her long for him all the more. She nodded. “Alex, come back inside me now … I want to come with you…” So he stopped what he was doing and did as she asked. “Can you feel it?” She breathed. “Can you feel I’m about to?”

“Yes,” he whispered, and paused, so he could feel the pulse of her. He began to move rhythmically again, and digging her nails into his back, she came with a fantastic shudder. Sensing her do so, he gave in to his own desire also.

42

On February 14, the first issue of
All Woman
was launched. The day the magazine hit the newsstands, its controversial subject matter and provocative tone, offset by typography, illustration, and photography that were stylish and groundbreaking in equal measure, caused a Twitter storm, and Chloë found herself asked to talk about it on local radio and television. The first time she had to do so, she was nervous, but having done it once, she discovered she took to center stage rather well.

“You’re more of an actress than you’ll ever know,” Rob had observed, after watching her on the TV. “Must be the theatrical family background—you put this particular drama queen to shame.”

The main event of this frantic week was the launch party, due to be held—at Chloë’s insistence—at the Café de Paris in Leicester Square. While it was no longer the trendy nightspot it had once been, Chloë believed its opulent faux
-
Baroque interior would provide the perfect backdrop for a fancy-dress extravaganza. Guests were invited to come as historic figures they felt were “all woman,” and as word spread that it was a media event to be seen at, invitations became highly sought after, with style and news correspondents fighting to get on the list.

Rob couldn’t contain himself when he heard. “You’re going to have all these straight journos turning up in
drag
!”

“Exactly.” Chloë nodded. “They won’t be allowed in otherwise. It’ll be a scream, don’t you think?”

“Ooh, I
wish
I could come.” He pouted.

“I’d love for you to, but it’s not really up to me, I’m afraid. Everything’s organized by our PR department.”

Inevitably Chloë took ages to decide what to wear. She was determined to look unique, so she rejected rental shops, yet in the end she left it so late that she was forced to assemble the outfit herself, running round the wholesale outlets of Soho’s backstreets to piece it together.