Glamour (31 page)

Jane could not remember the last time she had enjoyed a meal so much. She sat, absorbed, as Jude told her all about Rye—a glorious medieval town, she remembered now, full of buildings from history, Queen Anne,Tudor, earlier . . . and the flat fields and rolling downs of Sussex. And she started to fantasize about what might happen. If he liked her . . .what if she switched firms? Or started a branch of the company in London? They could date more over there, slowly build a future....

Jane was careful not to eat too much. He told her about his exes, the models he’d dated. Code for “I like skinny girls.” About the social-register parties he attended, the London Season, the big events in Paris and New York.

He said he wasn’t interested in buying anything on the spot. Jane waxed lyrical about the white clapboard cottage, but Jude’s eyes glazed over. After a few minutes he interrupted her.

“There’s the Old Shipping Inn in the center of town. They have a suite open—I checked. It’s Sunday tomorrow, you don’t have to go to work, do you?”

Jane shook her head.

“I thought maybe we could stay over. Steal a night. Like honeymooners.”

She nodded her head, briskly, her throat dry, and he whisked her away to the hotel—in fact, despite the name, very modern and sleek—and up to the promised suite, which was nearly as big as Jane’s apartment.

“Ever since I saw you in that tight little dress, I wanted to unwrap you, all shiny and new, like a Christmas present.”

Well . . . it had been a month, one month and
lots
of dates. How could Jane object? Jude had been patient, hadn’t he? She nodded, half-eager, half-terrified.

“Mmm, baby, you’ve got fabulous legs,” he said. “Long legs, like a colt’s. Let’s see what you’ve got up there.”

And he deftly undid her jeans while somehow popping open his own shirt, and tugged her, half-naked, onto the bed.

“A virgin.”

He smiled afterward, as though he’d won a prize. Propped up on one elbow, gazing down at her proprietorially.

“I can’t believe you were actually a virgin.”

“Everybody has to start somewhere,” Jane joked, although she was afraid it sounded lame.

“But you’re twenty years old. I thought virgins that survived their teens were myths. Like unicorns.” He ran a hand across her thigh, touching the drying blood that lay there. “You can be my pet unicorn.”

“I’ll take a shower,” Jane said, feeling gauche, embarrassed.

“How was it?” he yawned. “What you expected?”

“Fantastic,” she lied. In fact, she’d been dry and tense; he had started too soon. But she blamed herself. She hadn’t told him she was a virgin....

“Well, I’ll soon have you trained up to be an expert.” He rolled over on the bed.“Sex always makes me sleepy . . . I’ll take a nap, we can do it again later.” As an afterthought, he added, “You better get on the pill, darling, we don’t want any complications. I just hate those, don’t you?”

“Oh—of course,” Jane said.

She went into the shower; he had already closed his eyes.

She washed herself for a long time, covering her body in fragrant gel, scrubbing the embarrassing blood from her legs. It felt as though the world should seem different now, as if the sky should have a different color. But it didn’t; everything was normal.

Except, she told herself hopefully, for Jude.The first man she’d ever felt something for. He had taken her virginity, and she was glad. As she dried herself and dressed, Jane snuck a look at him, lying there on the bed. So handsome . . . so charming. Rhodri had said all the women were flinging themselves at him. No wonder, she thought, and I’ve got him!

It was a brilliant feeling.

When Jude woke, he suggested they check out anyway.

“Nobody wants to wear the same clothes two days in a row. I’ll pick you up tomorrow for brunch.”

“Okay,” Jane said, happily enough. She had been looking forward to spending the night with him, but tomorrow would do.

He dropped her off at her door with a little pat on her ass, and Jane spun round to kiss him, deeply, romantically. But Jude laughed, and said, “You’re a lot of fun.”

She didn’t like that. Something profound had just happened—okay, they’d only been dating a month, but still—surely he must feel the chemistry, must feel the instant rightness of it all?

She went to sleep in her own bed, alone, and not wholly happy. But she tried to suppress her doubts. After all, Jane knew very well how beautiful she was. Men were always trying, and failing, to impress her. Jude would understand his luck . . . surely?

He did call. Bright and early, and picked her up at eleven.The brunch spot was crowded and hip, and Jane nervously picked at waffles with strawberries, while Jude polished off bacon and eggs and a mug of cinnamon coffee.

“So after this we’ll go back to my hotel,” he suggested, throwing down a hundred-dollar bill, carelessly. “Work off the meal. If you want to. And then tonight . . . we could go to that book launch at the Metropolitan, and back afterward for more?”

“Perfect,” Jane said, happy, reassured.

He still liked her. He was still interested. It wasn’t wham, bam, thank you, ma’am. Yes, there was some reserve there, but she found it all the sexier, all the more exciting. For once, she was the pursuer. And every time he looked at her, every time that English voice complimented her, Jane thrilled with happiness.

The sex still wasn’t great, but she didn’t care. She went along, easily enough. It was the price of being with someone so charming. And that was what a relationship was....

Over the next week, at work, she floated through her days, her mind only half on her work. Thinking about Jude, waiting for him to call. They met at odd hours now: in the middle of the night, at lunchtime, often, and then she would duck out of meetings at three or four. Nobody complained. Jane was invaluable. They gossiped a little about how starry-eyed she was, and she knew they could see she was in love. So what? Someday, she knew, she’d be announcing an engagement....

And then one day, at the start of September, he rang.

“Baby.” That soft, familiar tone at the end of the workday. How she loved to hear it. “You have to come over to the hotel.”

Jane glanced at the clock: four forty-five. Good enough.

“On my way,” she said, grabbing her bag and hanging up. These days, all Jude had to do was call, and she came running.

“So.” He rolled off her, stretched out for a minute, then jumped up from the bed. Jane grabbed the sheet and held it around her shoulders; when Jude walked away from her—he didn’t like to cuddle much—she always felt more naked than naked. “I’m going to miss you,” he said, grabbing his dressing gown and pulling it on, casually.

Jude wasn’t looking at her. Jane was highly intelligent; she felt the tiny hairs prickle on her arms, and jumped out of bed herself, reaching for her clothes.

“Miss me? Are you going somewhere?”

“Well, the summer’s over,” he said, lightly. “Time to push on home.”

“I thought you were staying,” Jane said, worriedly. “You’re going back to England? I have a major project, restaffing in Arizona. I can’t get leave for a while.”

Jude sighed and reached toward the table where a packet of Marlborough Lights was half-open; his eyes slid away from her, and he looked out of the window.

“Leave? To come and see me? I don’t think that’s such a great idea, darling.”

She shivered. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, come on, don’t make this difficult.” He jumped up and started to pace around the room, then said, quickly, as though wanting to get the words out, “I’m going home—you’re staying here. This was a holiday romance, great while it lasted, but I don’t think we’ve got a future. Not long-term.You’ve got your career. . . .”

Jane was seized with blind panic. He was leaving her . . . abandoning her....

“Is there someone else?” she whispered.

“Yes,” Jude said, brutally.“Actually, more than one. I just don’t want to be tied down.You’re beautiful, sweetheart, but you’re just too . . . clingy.”

Numbly, Jane pulled on her panties and bra, and reached for her skirt.

“And we don’t have an awful lot in common. In fact,” he said, sauntering toward the bathroom, “there’s history . . . isn’t there? Your father . . . well, it wouldn’t be right. Not in England, anyway. Not after what he did. I’m sure you can see that, Jane.You’ll be better off here, with a Yank—somebody who won’t ask too many awkward questions. . . .”

Her hands trembled as she did up the buttons of her shirt. Jane fought it, but the shock and loss . . . the embarrassment . . . it was rejection, it was utter humiliation....

Deliberately not looking at her, he walked into the bathroom, and she heard him switch on the shower.

Jane dressed as quickly as she could, her heart thumping and her mind racing. Nothing in common . . . clingy . . . better off here . . .
your father
. . .

And then, even as the tears were rolling down her cheeks, Jane suddenly, in a flash of light, understood everything. Why she’d felt so attracted . . . why she’d jumped on him . . . why she’d wanted him, desperately, even when the sex was lousy and the conversation strained....

Her father.
Jude was English. In some weird way he’d reminded her of Thomas . . .
but he had wanted her
. Praised her. Spent time with her. Lavished attention on her . . .

She had been trying to claw back the love she hadn’t received . . . romantic attention from a boyfriend, instead of the fatherly love Thomas Morgan never gave her.

And the others? The Americans, with whom she was supposed to click? None of them had stood a chance. None of them could be a father substitute, none of them could pay back her pain....

She steadied herself, one hand pressed against her heart, looking out over Central Park, the leaves just starting to redden and brown. It was so clear, so revelatory.

Jude was
nothing
. She had lost her virginity to nothing.

Calm now, Jane reached for her coat. No more; no longer. That was all over. She would go on, and succeed, and win, despite what Thomas Morgan had done to her. If love came, it would come. But Jane Morgan was not about to go looking for it. And she would not use romance to heal a childhood wound.

Jude’s dressing gown, his clothes, and his packed suitcase lay on the bed. Jane glanced out of the window; below them was a terrace. Casually, Jane tossed everything Jude owned out of the window—the suitcase was heavy, but she made it—and walked out of his suite, leaving the door wide open.

On the way home, she probed herself, her feelings.Yes—she felt a little stupid. But also, somehow free. As though now she could see things clearly. And for that, Jane almost felt grateful to Jude. A stuck-up trust fund brat with no purpose in life except sex and snobbery; and he wasn’t even good at the sex. But his careless betrayal had finally ripped the blinders off Jane’s eyes.

All in all, she told herself, cheaper than therapy.

She pressed the button and allowed the crisp, cool air to drift into the cab. It was refreshing, invigorating. The snap of autumn in New York.

Holiday was over.Time to get to work.

In her apartment, Jane found the answering machine was blinking. She pressed it.

“You goddamn
bitch
!” Jude’s voice screeched. He sounded petutlant, womanish, and Jane laughed. “I’ve got to call damn housekeeping now . . . they might blab . . . this could make the gossip columns . . . I’ll be a laughingstock . . .”

She pressed delete, went to her refrigerator, and, ignoring the yellowing celery and Chinese leftovers in their cartons, went straight for the chilled bottle of champagne. Jane poured herself a glass, slowly, and sipped it, thinking hard.

She needed a change. Out of this relationship—that was done. Out of her job, too. It was no longer any fun in human resources. She could be comfortable there, but no more.

Jane wanted ownership. She wanted it to be
her
helicopter,
her
house in the Hamptons. She’d seen a slogan in a dime store once—“It’s a strong man who can prevail in the face of comfort.”

Too right. She was getting lazy. Middle management was not in her game plan. Let them promote her to the main board, give her a division to run—and stock—and she’d get on a plane, go back to Los Angeles. She was overwhelmed with a desire to recapture some of what she had lost. Find Sally Lassiter, even if Sally had disappeared; find Helen, even if Helen was babied up in a Cairo suburb. They had private investigators these days that were as good as the FBI.This was America; money opened every door.

Yes. As the alcohol cheered and relaxed her, Jane smiled. Time to put her cards on the table. Shop Smart and she would play a game of chicken, and Jane was not going to be the one who blinked.

CHAPTER 9

Their first trip to America was a big success.

Baba and Mama met them at the airport; they hugged and cried, and were obviously so sincerely overjoyed to see Haya, that she could forgive the smug look in her father’s eyes. He was triumphing because she was wearing traditional dress and speaking Arabic, and so obviously in love with Ahmed.