Having It All (16 page)

Over the years he’d tried to understand what motivated Liz and why she reacted to things so differently from him. In the end he decided it was class. Her background was strawberries and
cream, tennis and tea on the lawn. His was pitheads and unemployment and the fear of the dole. He’d thought it didn’t make a difference. But it did. And Britt knew that.

He thought about last night again and felt stirred. There’d been a moment as he was dropping Britt off, when he’d leaned across to open her door and he’d nearly kissed her. But
she’d jumped out, brushing his cheek quickly in a let’s-be-friends way. She
was
Liz’s friend, of course. And a good friend too. And he loved Liz, even if she didn’t
have much time for him at the moment. So he was glad, wasn’t he, that nothing had happened they might regret?

He must pull himself together. He was acting like some stupid schoolboy. He hadn’t even heard Bert Smith’s suggestions, so God knows what he’d agreed to for the splash. It
would serve him right if they ended up with the same front page as the
Sun.
For the first time he could ever remember he was deeply grateful when the conference wound up.

Just as he got back into his office the phone on his desk buzzed and his secretary’s voice came on the line asking if he wanted to speak to a Britt Williams. David experienced an
unfamiliar lurch of panic, strongly laced with excitement. He hadn’t felt like this in years. Did he want to talk to her? Yes he did, by God, he did.

‘Britt, hello. I’m sitting here feeling an idiot over last night. I haven’t said so many dumb things in years. You must have been bored to tears.’

‘I was. Absolutely rigid.’ The gentle teasing in her voice made the back of his neck prickle. ‘So bored that since I’m coming over your way to a press do at IBM, I
wondered if you wanted to have lunch.’

Lunch. Everyone knew lunch was OK. Innocent. Above board. Everybody did it.
Lunch
. Exciting. Full of possibilities. The first step on the rocky road to bed. Which was it in this case?
The former. Of course it was.

As he put the phone down David wondered for a fraction of a second why Britt had bothered to tell him the reason she was coming in his direction. In his experience as a journalist the offering
of unnecessary information usually meant one thing: a carefully constructed lie.

Don’t be ludicrous, he told himself, it was ridiculous to imagine that she was making it up because she wanted to see him.

On the spur of the moment he picked up the phone and called IBM. And when he put the phone down less than a minute later he was smiling. They had no record of any press launches today.

At three-forty-five David looked at his watch and thought about getting back to the paper. Any later than four was considered GMT, Gross Moral Turpitude, at the
News
.
Already they’d be waiting for him. But, bloody hell, he was the editor.

Let them wait.

Seeing him glance at his watch, Britt offered to give him a lift back in her Porsche. Had he imagined it or was that a subtle invitation he saw in her eyes? A couple of times during lunch her
foot had touched his under the table, and once, as she got up to go to the Ladies, her thigh had brushed his as he helped her out of her seat.

He didn’t know what to make of her. The signals seemed so confused. One minute cool friendship. The next what he would take in anyone else as a come-on. Anyway for God’s sake what
was he thinking of? He loved Liz and there was no way he was going to get involved with her best friend. It was just a middle-aged fantasy now that he’d turned thirty-five, and Liz
didn’t seem that interested any more. He was obviously looking for reassurance. It was pathetic really. He’d just have to tell Britt tactfully it might be better if they didn’t
meet again. He’d do it on the way back to the
News
.

But once they were in the car the electricity in the atmosphere was almost dangerous. It made him blurt out something he knew he’d regret as soon as he’d said it. ‘You know,
last night when you slipped off like that?’ Britt smiled her mysterious cool smile. ‘I didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed.’

Britt said nothing.

It had worked then. Of course it had. It always did. Build the moment, then get out quick. Surrender wasn’t the way to make a man want you, what really whipped up desire was not being able
to have you. Especially, like with David, when they hadn’t even known they wanted you in the first place.

Two minutes later Britt drove into the underground car park of the
Daily News
and pulled in to let David out. For a few seconds the silence hung between them, tantalizing and faintly
embarrassing. Then David seemed to come to some decision. Briskly he opened the door and started to get out. As he did so Britt leaned over and stopped him. She turned his face to hers and kissed
him, hard and full and unmistakable in its implications, on the mouth.

David looked at himself closely in the bathroom mirror. Was he really very attractive like Britt said? He wished he could stop thinking about her. Ever since that kiss she kept
invading his mind and his fantasies, no matter how hard he tried to keep her out. And he had to admit, he wasn’t trying very hard. But he ought to face the fact that Britt was only a symptom,
a very enticing symptom certainly, of the real problem, which was between him and Liz.

With the kids and their jobs they hardly ever made love any more, and when they did it was rushed and automatic. It was his fault as much as hers. For months he’d gone along thinking that
maybe good sex didn’t matter, that it was just another of those things you gave up when children came along like Sunday lie-ins and finished conversations. Now he knew he was wrong. He knew
with absolute certainty that the strength of his reaction to Britt had a simple root: she was willing when Liz was not.

Wrapping himself in his towelling robe he decided that if he and Liz really wanted to stay together they were going to have to do something about it. Now.

To his surprise, Liz wasn’t in bed. She was still sitting on it, fully clothed, staring in front of her.

‘What’s the matter?’ For a brief moment of panic he thought she’d guessed, that someone had seen him lunching with Britt today. Well, at least it would bring everything
out in the open. After all he hadn’t got anything to be ashamed of. Yet.

‘It’s Jamie.’

He might have bloody well known. It wasn’t that he didn’t love Jamie, he did. More than anything he could think of. But wasn’t it always Jamie? Or Daisy? Or even bloody
Conrad?

‘His teacher says he’s started washing his hands all the time. Six times yesterday.’ She turned towards him, her tone suddenly urgent. ‘David, she asked me if there was
anything wrong at home. There isn’t, is there?’

David looked into Liz’s haunted eyes and felt a surge of suffocating guilt. She was under so much pressure from Conrad at work and Susie at home. Maybe he was being unreasonable to expect
her to be Linda Lovelace in bed.

‘Of course not,’ he lied,
except that I can’t stop thinking about your best friend
.

She stretched her arms out to him and he came swiftly across the room and held her. Under the career woman toughness she was so vulnerable. He held her close for a few moments, surprised and
slightly ashamed to find that her vulnerability aroused him. Gently he slipped his hand under the soft silk of her shirt and he felt her stiffen. But not with excitement or the hint of erotic
pleasure he longed to give her, but with tension.

‘I’m sorry, David,’ she mumbled, ‘with all this stuff about Jamie and now Susie going, I’m just too strung out.’

David felt all the old familiar bitterness flood back. He let go of her and climbed into bed. Sleep came soon. And with it a powerful image of a slender blonde in a black rubber basque and
five-inch heels. This time she didn’t have a whip and her arms were open, welcoming him. Very slowly she put one finger in her mouth and began to suck it.

David stood back in the shadows of the underground car park next to Britt’s Porsche and looked at his watch. Seven-twenty-five. Her secretary had said she’d be
leaving at seven-thirty. For a moment he lost his nerve. What was he doing here? What if he’d got the signals wrong?

But he knew he hadn’t got the signals wrong, he’d lain awake all night thinking about it and he knew that now. And as he heard her high heels tap-tap on the concrete floor he
suddenly knew exactly what he was doing there. What he wanted to do. And what she wanted to do too.

As Britt fumbled for her car keys he stepped out of the shadows and held her from behind, one arm around her neck. As she opened her mouth to scream he turned her round and kissed her long and
hard. And for a split second he saw the excitement flash in her eyes in the aftermath of fear. And he realized how long it had been since he had felt overpowering, erotic, animal passion.

Without saying a word they climbed into her car and drove fast towards Canary Wharf.

Liz looked at the clock on the microwave as she heated some milk. David still wasn’t back so she’d promised herself hot milk and the final episode of the television
thriller she was addicted to in bed. For weeks now David had been getting back later and later. And when he got back he was so bad-tempered with her and the children that she sometimes wished
he’d stayed away. Things must be getting tough on the
News
.

As she slipped into bed she caught sight of herself in her dressing gown and slippers, her mug of hot milk in her hand and she was shocked. She looked like her mother. No wonder David never came
home.

Then she felt a flash of anger at the unfairness of it. Women felt they had to be attractive to keep men, yet men made no attempt at beauty to keep women. They seemed to think that simply being
male was enough. Why didn’t David slip on six different pairs of boxer shorts, trying to decide which made him look the most seductive. The thought cheered her up and she smiled as she delved
into her chest of drawers and pulled out an ivory silk nightdress and slipped it on. Then she brushed her hair and sprayed herself with Chanel No 5. Marilyn may have worn it with nothing else but
it was freezing tonight. This would have to do. She arranged herself elegantly on the pillows. The hot milk didn’t quite fit the siren image but what the hell.

An hour later, there was still no sign of David and she fell asleep.

‘Liz? Liz, are you listening?’ Claudia the Cow’s voice cut through her misery. ‘Or should I and the Producer just leave you to look out of the window on
your own?’

The sarcasm in Claudia’s tone jerked her back to the present. They were discussing a new series on modern marriage which Claudia was Executive Producing. To Liz’s surprise it was
both fascinating and cleverly put together. The choice of the outrageous comedienne Wendy Black to front it had been inspired, cutting any sense of worthiness or the cosy ‘Let’s You and
Me Discuss Your Problems in Front of Five Million Viewers’ tone that dogged similar programmes. And the decision to interview famous as well as ordinary people about their marriages had come
off brilliantly.

Now Claudia was outlining the show’s cleverest stunt: a quiz for viewers to do at home entitled: ‘How To Spot if Your Partner is Having an Affair’.

Idly Liz ticked the boxes on the sheet Claudia had handed her. She was a sucker for all those ‘How To Tell if You’re an Alcoholic’ quizzes they had in women’s magazines
and the Sunday supplements.

Is your partner out late more often lately?
TICK.

Have you noticed unexplained changes in behaviour?
TICK.

Does the phone ring with no one on the other end?
My God, that had happened the other night. TICK.

Suddenly Liz felt a freezing panic knot up her stomach and turn her legs to lead.
This quiz described David’s behaviour exactly.

Why the hell had she never seen it? Why had she been glad to have time to herself instead of wondering where David was all these nights? She’d never thought of querying his explanations of
meetings and problems at the paper. David was having an affair! It couldn’t have been clearer if she’d found them in the missionary position on the floor of the sitting room.

Claudia watched Liz curiously. The blood had rushed from her face and her lips had turned white. Claudia had once seen a car-crash victim in shock and she looked just like Liz. She’d been
right then about David and that blonde who’d been after Conrad. Claudia had clearly had a lucky escape.

For a moment she felt sorry for Liz. Pain and betrayal were so clearly written on her face. Wait a minute, Claudia reminded herself, this is Liz Ward. The woman who stole your job. ‘Are
you OK, Lizzie,’ she inquired sweetly. ‘Not too close to home I hope?’

‘Are you OK, Lizzie?’ Liz could hear the concern in Ginny’s voice and it was almost too much for her. Ginny had asked her down especially this weekend with
Mel and Britt, announcing that she had something important she wanted to tell them.

‘Fine,’ lied Liz. But she wasn’t fine. She was miserable. After that blinding discovery she’d gone home and lain in bed waiting for David.

Should she confront him? Maybe she was making too much of it, imagining things? But her deepest instincts told her she wasn’t. And her instincts were very rarely wrong.

When she finally heard David coming upstairs it was almost midnight and she knew she couldn’t let things go. She had to say
something
. So she’d asked where he’d been
and if anything was the matter. But instead of coming clean and asking her forgiveness, he’d been irritable and evasive. He had simply refused to talk about it.

In the past she’d often wondered why friends of hers let affairs drift. She’d always known that if it was her she would never stand for it. She would have to know one way or the
other. She would demand either an admission or denial. And if it turned out to be true, then he could leave. It was that simple.

But now she saw that it wasn’t like that, not like that at all. Because you never actually knew for sure. Men didn’t simply say ‘OK, it’s a fair cop, guv, I’ve been
banging my secretary.’ They denied it. Or simply refused to talk about it. And in some insecure part of yourself you were relieved. You gave them the benefit of the doubt. Because you had to.
You had so much at stake: love, children, mortgage, status, comfort. Suddenly the house you’d built of brick might turn out to be a house of straw after all. And the thought scared you
shitless.