Letter from Paris (16 page)

“There’s someone there,” she whispered.

“It’s just the cleaner. She’ll go away. She usually does.”

India snapped to her senses. Pushing Henry away. “SHE USUALLY DOES? What the hell am I doing?” she thought.

Leaping up and grabbing her purse, she flew from the room. Racing down the stairs onto the street, she managed to flag down a black cab as it came around the corner of Broome Street.

“Queens Park,” India panted, climbing inside.

“You’re in a hurry, luv. Robbed a bank or something?” the cabbie quipped as she clanked the door shut.

“Just need to get home fast. Bad day. VERY bad day.”

“Boyfriend problems is it?’

“Actually, yes. Are you some kind of clairvoyant or something?”

“See it all in this business, luv. My missus reckons I should write a book – had that actress, what’s her name, the one in
Coronation Street
, in the back last week. Could make a fortune off of the
Daily Mail
if I wanted to, the stories I hear. Don’t you worry about him, kiddo. He’s not worth it,” he said, switching on the meter and waiting for the traffic lights to change. He looked at her through his rearview mirror as she fought back tears. “Cheer up, luv.”

India sighed, leaning back in the seat, closing her eyes and catching her breath as she waited for her heart to stop pounding. The cab wound its way slowly through the city and picked up speed as it headed toward the suburbs.

Thank god it’s the weekend. At least I won’t have to see Henry until next week, that’s if I still have a job to go to of course. Shit. What if I’ve wounded his pride? Wasn’t there something in the contract about a review? Can you get fired for NOT screwing your boss? Is that legal?

“Next on the left thanks,” she yelled to the driver, realizing they’d overshot her house. He pulled up abruptly.

“Cheers, luv.” He smiled, handing her a receipt. “Don’t let the buggers grind you down.”

India wearily climbed the stairs to her apartment. She opened the front door and her cat greeted her padding down the hallway and fussing around her ankles.

“I almost did something really reckless this evening, Countess,” she murmured, lifting and cradling the purring ball of fur. “But I
didn’t.
Well I
almost
didn’t. That’s the good news. I’ll tell you the bad news when you’ve had your dinner and I’ve had another drink.”

Throwing her purse onto the couch, India pulled open a packet of Whiskas and scattered the biscuits into a dish in front of the cat. She opened the freezer and grabbed a bottle of vodka, bought for Sarah and left untouched for reasons India now understood. Filling a tumbler with ice and pouring a generous measure, she added tonic water and went into the sitting room. She rifled through her collection of CDs and found her favorite Edith Piaf album. Then, flopping into an armchair, she took several large gulps and began singing along mournfully.
Quand il me prend dans ses bras, il me parle tous bas, je vois la vie en rose…

As the track reached its crescendo, she drained the glass, refilled it clumsily, then belted out the next song.
Non, rien de rien, non je ne regrette rien…

She poured a straight shot, knocked it back and then hurling the remaining ice cubes at the wall, leapt onto the couch and karaoked her way through the reprise.
Non, rien de rien
…she yelled, fist thumping the air. After a few minutes, she collapsed flat on her back into the cushions. Sitting up again, tears streaking her face, she blubbered the final chorus.
Avec mes souvenirs…J’ai allumé le feu…Mes chagrins, mes plaisirs…Je n’ai plus besoin d’eux…

“Counteshh,” she slurred, “you are a cat. I am a conshultant. You are my besht friend and I am yours…letsh have a little sleep now…”

15

Luella made her way to the Charlotte Street Hotel, where she settled at a table by the window. She was about to pull out her iPad when she saw Peter scanning the room for her.

“Over here.” She waved to him.

“Hi,” he said, pulling out the chair across from her. “Sorry I’m late. Traffic.”

“It’s fine. I walked from Henry’s office,” she said. “Sorry, you had to cross town. I forgot it’s the holiday weekend.”

“No problem. I was just happy you wanted to talk to me,” he said. “Peroni please.” He nodded to the barman. “The usual, Lu?”

She nodded.

“And a vodka martini thanks. So how’re the plans for the show coming along?”

“Really well. Henry has worked his magic. Jean-Luc has agreed to be the host. I can hardly believe it, can you? Jean-Luc. We’re all thrilled. It’s such a coup don’t you think? Tod will be so excited to meet him.” She paused, noticing Peter’s hands were trembling. “Okay. I’m talking too much.”

Peter eventually broke the long silence that followed. “Lu, I want you to understand that I never wanted this. I didn’t choose it. I never wanted to be different. I don’t. I’ve fought against it for years, dealt with these
feelings, suppressed them. It’s why I’ve always been such a workaholic I suppose. I’ve been trying to fill up the spaces, not give myself time to think.”

Luella said nothing.

“The other day, you wanted to know if being with you was good for me. It was. I mean sleeping with you, Lu. It was okay.”

“Okay?”

“Lu, you’re the only woman I’ve ever slept with. We were kids when we met. I told myself I had these feelings under control. I thought, well, I tried to believe this was something I could handle. It’s not like I had these strong urges to go out looking for sex for the sake of it. I suppose I tuned it out, tried to turn the volume down on the noise in my head.”

“Peter. Peter look at me.”

He looked up.

“I feel bad that you’ve lived like this all these years. The other day you said you wanted us to stay in each other’s lives. You’ve been my best friend for so long that I want to understand. I need to understand for my own sanity.”

Peter went to speak and she put up her hand to stop him.

“Let me finish what I have to say. Please. It’s taken me so many sleepless nights to feel strong enough to talk. When I found the letter it felt like a hammer blow, but in a weird way it’s been easier than if I’d found a letter from another woman.”

Peter looked at her in astonishment.

“I know you find that surprising, but I think if it had been another woman I’d have tried to get you back. With this, well, there’s no competition. It’s so, well, final, I suppose.”

Luella felt a catch in her throat. Her cough attracted the attention of the couple at the neighboring table. She lowered her voice.

“This is useless. We can’t talk here, Peter. Let’s fix a time for you to come to the house. Are you around this weekend?”

“Yes. I’m here on my own all week. Maisie’s out of town and I’m minding the dog.”

“Come over tomorrow, lunchtime.”

“Okay.” He nodded.

“Just tell me one thing before then. How long have you been seeing him?”

Peter hesitated. “A while…it’s been a while.”

Luella leaned in closer. “Years? Months? Tell me, Peter. I think you owe it to me to tell me.”

“I can’t. Not now, Lu. Not here.”

Luella put down her martini glass and pushed back her chair.

“Okay. Let’s take things one step at a time then,” she said, getting to her feet. “I’ve waited this long. I can wait a little longer. We’ll talk tomorrow. I’ll see you at the house at one. Okay?”

“I’ll be there,” he answered quietly.

Luella left the hotel lobby and walked down the street past the crowded wine bars and al fresco cafés. The air was heavy with the scent of cooking spices and cigarette smoke, and throbbing with the buzz of conversation and music. She felt unutterably alone.

Frustrated in her attempts to get a taxi, she cut through Soho Square Gardens. Then realizing she was in no rush to go home, she decided to call Susie and see if she was around for a drink. Susie had been a rock these last few months; the adage about old friends being the best was so true.

Late Saturday afternoon India took the train over to Sarah’s place.

“You look like shit,” Sarah said, greeting her at the door with a warm hug. “Come in. What’s going on? Tell me the whole sad saga.”

“You are blooming,” India said. “It suits you. You look beautiful.”

“I feel great, thanks.” Sarah grinned. “So, sit yourself down and tell me all.”

“Here you go. Isn’t a picture worth a thousand words?” India said, pulling her iPad from her purse and opening it on the kitchen table.

Sarah looked at the image of Adam with Natalie in Cannes. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. She looks like a right piece of work. Eew,” she said. “Do you want a cup of tea? Happens an aspirin?”

“Both thanks,” India said, sinking deeper into the chair and putting her head into her hands.

“Well, cheer up. There’s still Henry,” Sarah said across her shoulder as she filled the kettle with water.

“About Henry,” India sighed. “There’s been a development.”

“Oh?”

India filled her in on the previous evening. “It’s going to be even more awkward at work I suppose,” she said, “if such a thing were possible. I love this job, Sarah. Why does everything always get so complicated?”

“C’est la vie. Remember? Look. Henry needs you. You said he’s asked you to see if Annabelle will be a presenter at the fashion show, yes?”

“True,” India said, swallowing the aspirin with a shudder and taking a sip of tea. “He was kind of cautious around it, like he didn’t feel comfortable asking me to ask her or something. I told him. It’s no big deal but I might have to go out to LA to persuade her.”

“Really? I mean, can’t you just call her?”

“I was joking,” India said. “Though I
was
kind of hoping he’d send me to LA to meet the students at Otis College. But as I never want to see Adam Brooks again…” Her thoughts trailed off.

“Have you spoken to him? Does he know you’ve seen this?”

“He keeps leaving me texts like everything is normal. I haven’t answered them. I don’t intend to either.”

“So, assuming everything blows over with Henry, you know, you explain you’re not used to vodka or better still you pretend nothing happened and nothing much DID happen, so you march in there on Monday, business as usual. I’ve never seen you so happy in a job. You’re not going to lose it. Henry will get over it. From what you’ve told me he probably found it very funny. He’ll respect you for not going there.”

“Do you really think so?” India looked up hopefully. “You’re not just saying that to cheer me up?”

“Really. I mean it. Sounds like Henry’s a big boy. He’ll get over it. Do you want the advice of a pregnant woman?”

“Go on.”

“Well I don’t think you’ll have closure until you talk to Adam properly. Don’t get your hopes up, but there may still be an explanation. Maybe he’s not sleeping with her. Maybe they’re just friends.”

India shook her head.

“Listen. I’m just saying. Give him a chance to explain. Talk to him. End it properly if it is the end. You’ll feel better. You’ll be able to move on, meet someone else.”

“Maybe.” India sounded doubtful. “I’ll think about it. In the meantime, can I go and lie down? I feel really bad.”

“Sure.” Sarah smiled. “Mi casa. Su casa. I’ll wake you up when the pasta’s ready. We’ll eat when Damien gets here. He’s coming over around seven. Then you’ll get to listen to nothing but baby talk. It’ll make you delighted to get back to work on Monday. I’m even boring myself these days.”

India laughed. She gave her friend a grateful smile. “Thanks,” she murmured. “Never again. I’m NEVER drinking vodka again.”

16

“Good weekend?” Luella asked India the following Monday morning, taking off her blue suede jacket and folding it carefully over a chair in the meeting room.

“Pretty low-key. My friend’s expecting a baby soon,” India said. “I had dinner at her place. You?”

Henry walked in before Luella could answer.

Okay, so the moment of truth. How is he going to handle this I wonder? India thought.

“Good morning. Thanks for coming in so early,” he said briskly, addressing them both as he sat down and throwing a sheath of papers onto the committee desk. “I have to be out of here in ten minutes, but I want to get things fast out of the gate this week. Here’s my summary of where we’re up to and what we need to pin down in the next two weeks.”

Samantha popped her head around the corner. India noticed she had a fresh head of highlights and that her skin was glowing and dewy. She must have spent all weekend pampering herself, she thought.

“Would anyone like tea, coffee, more water, or anything else before I leave you to get on?” Samantha smiled.

“I think we’re fine, thanks,” Henry said, taking his seat across from Luella.

He’s come over all inscrutable and professional this morning, India thought. I really hope Sarah’s right and I haven’t blown this.