A Wild Affair (16 page)

“There she is,” Helen said as Ivana appeared through the doors, cigarette in hand. As a tunic-ed woman ran toward her, she dropped it on the floor dramatically and stubbed it out with her pointy red stiletto before walking slowly over to where we were sitting.

“So,” she said. “Now is time to relex. Yes?”

“Yes,” I said, sighing inwardly. “Yes, I really think it is.”

I DIDN'T RELAX. I mean I tried—I tried really hard. First with a sleep treatment that consisted of lying on a vibrating bed while a reassuring voice told us to picture ourselves standing on a lawn by a fountain, turning all our problems into bubbles that just floated away then with a cup of tea in the main spa where everyone lay on daybeds, plumped up with cushions, watching carp swim underfoot. But my problems didn't turn into bubbles and float away; they were more like boulders, sitting right on top of my head and pressing down. Or, you know, lying right next to me, surreptitiously looking at her mobile phone every few minutes even though it was clearly signposted everywhere that mobile phones weren't allowed in the Sanctuary.

I looked over at the swimming pool where Ivana, sporting a thong bathing suit that left nothing to the imagination, was doing a little pole dance around the swing that was suspended over the pool. She soon attracted an audience and began giving brief lessons for those who wanted to return home not just more relaxed but also with a little routine to excite their partners.

My mother's mobile phone beeped again and I tried not to feel annoyed, instead concentrating on the magazine I was reading.
Or, if I'm going to be honest about it, the magazine I was merely holding, barely taking any of it in.

Which was why I was relieved when Helen announced that it was time for lunch. We all trooped after her into the restaurant.

As soon as we were shown to our table, my mother's phone rang loudly. She smiled apologetically, mouthed “so sorry about this,” then dug it out of her robe pocket and thrust it to her ear. “Hello? Oh, hello.” Immediately her voice took on a more silky, sultry tone.

“Mum. Mum. Esther,” I hissed, trying to catch her attention. “You're not allowed mobile phones in the restaurant. You're not allowed them outside the changing rooms.”

She held up her hands hopelessly and edged away from me. “Oh well, that's very sweet,” she cooed into the phone. “I do declare that you're trying to charm me, Mr. Rydall.” She shot me a smile. “But I really can't talk. I'm with my daughter. Spending some quality time with her. And we're really not supposed to have our mobiles on here. We're at a day spa, you see.”

“Mr. Rydall?” I looked at her in alarm. “That's Chester?”

She nodded, blushing slightly at something he was saying. “That's right. We're just about to have lunch … Yes, of course I'll tell her … Yes, well, you, too … Bye-bye.”

She closed her phone and looked at me, her face glowing. “He says you be sure to have a good time. He wants his advertising guru fully rested for the Project Handbag launch.”

“Project Hendbag?” Ivana looked at me strangely. “Why is project? Why is hendbag?”

I chose to ignore her. “He's been calling you?” I demanded, turning back to my mother. “Since when?”

“Since …” My mother smiled like a lovesick teenager. “Since we met at your office last week. He's lovely, Jessica. A real gentleman. So sincere.”

“He's my client,” I said pointedly.

“I know! It couldn't be more perfect, could it? He's handsome, he's genuine, he's rich, and he's single. I didn't think men like him really existed.”

I rolled my eyes—I was obviously getting nowhere with this. “Just don't … don't mess this up,” I said. “He's important to the firm. Really important.”

My mother looked at me, a hurt expression on her face. “I'll do my best,” she said, her voice slightly brittle. “It may not have occurred to you, but he's important to me, too.”

“You've only just met him,” I sighed incredulously.

“And it took you how long to realize how much you liked Max?”

Everyone was staring at me suddenly and I blushed. “Right away, I guess,” I said awkwardly. “Although it took us awhile to … to …”

“Years,” Helen butted in. “It took them years. They were both in denial. Honestly, if they hadn't got it together they both would have ended up single forever. I mean, can you imagine Max chatting anyone up? Can you imagine Jess being chatted up?”

Helen was laughing, but then she caught my eye and cringed slightly. I reddened immediately.

“What?” my mother asked, smiling. “What?”

“Nothing,” Helen said quickly. “I mean obviously Jess is chatted up. All the time. But she wouldn't do anything. I mean, she loves Max. She …” She looked at me worriedly and I shook my head incredulously.

“Vy you are so red?” Ivana spun on me, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. “You are chet up by someone? You mek fool of yourself?”

“No!” I shook my head irritably. “No. Look, can we change the subject please?”

“Has someone been chatting my daughter up?” My mother
was still smiling brightly, like this was all some big joke. “Is there something I should know about, Jess?” She turned to me, a conspiratorial look in her eye.

“No. There's nothing,” I said levelly.

“Jess, you're tense. You should talk. We're all friends here. Aren't we, girls?” My mother looked around the table encouragingly.

“I'm not tense,” I said tensely. “There's nothing to talk about.”

“I em hungry,” Ivana said. “I think order first, then argue about this. Yes?”

I took a deep breath. “There is nothing to argue about. But you're right—let's order.”

We studied our menus silently for a few minutes, then relayed our orders to the waitress.

“Of course,” my mother said when the waitress was out of earshot, “I wouldn't be surprised if you had admirers. We've all been there, haven't we, girls? Nothing like being young and beautiful and having men fall at your feet, is there?”

Helen and Ivana shrugged and nodded respectively.

“Well, I wouldn't know about that,” I said evenly. “I love Max and only Max.”

“We all know that, darling,” my mother said, rolling her eyes slightly in a way that made my hackles rise. “But there's nothing wrong with a bit of harmless flirtation sometimes, is there? We've all done it.”

I stared at her angrily, my guilt forcing me on the attack. “Maybe
you
have,” I said pointedly. “But I'm not like you. I'm nothing like you, in fact. I don't look around for rich men to keep me and I wouldn't desert my child just so I could continue going to parties. Okay?”

She looked really shaken. I turned away, angry with her, angry with myself.

“Okay,” she said quietly. “You're right, of course.”

“Chicken pizza?” the waitress asked, appearing beside us suddenly. “Tuna salad?”

“Here,” Helen said, shooting me a little look. “Here and here.”

“So,” my massage therapist said, when I arrived at the treatment room a bit later. Our lunch never really recovered from my scathing attack on my mother; even Ivana's description of her latest client, a Russian oligarch who wanted her to train his wife in the art of seduction, didn't lighten the mood much. “You're booked for a full-body massage. Are there any areas of your body that are particularly tight? Any medical issues I should know about?”

“Tight?” I thought for a moment. “No, not really.”

“Okay,” she said. “Well, in that case, please take off all your clothes and get under the blanket. I'll be back in a few minutes and then we'll start the treatment. Okay?”

She left the room and I disrobed quickly, then got onto the bed and pulled the blanket over me.

My therapist slipped back in. “Is everything okay?”

“Great, thanks.”

“Okay. So please roll over onto your front, and we're going to start with a back massage.”

I did as she asked, and she slowly rolled down the blanket.

She started to rub my back. And that's when it started to hurt. I tried not to, but I yelped.

“Hmmm,” the massage therapist said. “You're very tense. Try to relax for me.”

I tried.

“Okay, and relax a bit more?”

I tried again. “This isn't relaxed enough?” I asked, twisting my head to look up at her. She shook her head.

“It's like you're tightening every muscle in your body,” she explained.
“Your back is rigid. Are you under lots of pressure? Is there anything on your mind? Anything you'd like to talk about? Sometimes talking can be relaxing, you know.”

“No,” I said brightly. “Nothing on my mind that I can think of.”

“Okay,” the therapist said dubiously. “Well, let's start on the legs instead. Work our way up. How does that sound?”

“That sounds great,” I said. “Legs it is.”

She covered my back up again and slipped the blanket off my right leg. Then with slow, gentle movements, she began to massage my calf.

“Ow! Ow Oh no. No, I'm sorry …” I yanked my leg away in agony. The massage therapist looked at me worriedly.

“You seem very tense,” she said tentatively. “Are you sure there's nothing wrong?”

“Wrong?” I turned over and pulled my knees into my chest, bringing the blanket over them. “Why would there be anything wrong?” I stared at her defiantly.

“Perhaps there is nothing wrong,” she said soothingly. “I tell you what. Lie down again. I'm going to massage your head. What do you think?”

“Fine,” I said dubiously, noticing a name tag on her jacket. I lay down again and pulled the blanket up to my neck. “But there's nothing wrong. Honestly, Louise.”

“Of course there isn't,” she said, rubbing some oil between her hands and pressing it into my forehead. I closed my eyes, and she began to massage my temples. They hurt, too, but not in a leap-up-in-agony way.

“I mean, I'm getting married soon, so I guess that might be why I'm a bit stressed,” I said.

“Ah,” Louise said. “I'm sure that explains it. So much to do. So much to organize.”

“Yes, exactly,” I said, thinking suddenly of Giles, whom I
hadn't spoken to since enlisting his help to spy on Max. “So much. And, well, I mean, there are a few other things.”

“I see,” Louise said soothingly. “Like what?”

“Oh, nothing really,” I said. I'd never thought of my head having muscles in it, never known why anyone would pay for a head massage. But it was the most incredible thing I'd ever experienced. Still, I wasn't going to tell my therapist anything. That wasn't my style. Keep it all bottled in and deal with it alone—that was the way to tackle problems, not to be one of those ridiculous people who told everyone from the hairdresser to a shop assistant of all the problems in their life.

“It's my mother,” I suddenly blurted out. “I thought she was dead but she wasn't, she was alive all the time. And she's nothing like I thought she'd be.”

“So you've got your mother back,” Louise said. “That must be wonderful.”

“Yes, it is,” I said uncertainly. “I mean, of course it is. It's just that she's … well, she's just not like me. I mean, she's all glossy and groomed and she's always flirting with people …”

“And you want her to yourself a bit. Is that it?” Louise asked as her hands moved down to my neck where she applied a bit of pressure, producing a gasp from me.

“To myself?” I frowned. “I don't know. I hadn't really thought … No, no it's not that. I mean I've gotten used to not having a mother. I don't need her to myself. It's more that … well, she talks about men all the time. And sex. And …”

“And she's your mother. She should leave the love and sex to you now. Right?” It sounded like she was laughing at me. My frown deepened.

“Of course not. No. Well, sort of. I mean, well, aren't mothers supposed to be … I don't know.” I sighed. “Grandma was very different, that's all. She was strict. She wore plaid.”

“And you loved your grandma? Do you miss her?”

I tried to move my head but Louise's hands were now moving down to my shoulders and her arms were in the way.

“Miss Grandma? No.” I reddened, feeling guilty for the swiftness of my response, the absolute denial. “I mean,” I said quickly, “Grandma was … we didn't exactly get along. She didn't really want me, you see.”

“Ah. But she looked after you all the same. That was nice.”

I nodded. I felt confused all of a sudden. Did I really want my mother to be more like Grandma, more like the woman who made me mistrustful of other people, who made me think I would never make much of myself, who told me every time I made a mistake that I was becoming more and more like my mother?

“Mum chose a man over me. I mean, she changed her mind, but that's why I was at Grandma's,” I said. The words came from nowhere; the resentment in my voice surprised me.

“And you've never made a mistake? Over a man?” Louise asked gently. “Never made a bad decision you regretted later?”

My mouth twisted slightly as my drunken night with Hugh flashed into my head. “I made a terrible decision,” I whispered. “I thought my fiancé was having an affair and I … I …”

“Cheated on him?”

I couldn't answer; I just did a kind of half nod.

“I see. Well, that makes more sense.”